New Vegas: Lucky Dragon
by Xcom-anders
Summary: The Battle of Hoover Dam is over, and a new king sits on the throne. As he consolidates his new nation, other forces actively work to destroy what he has worked so hard to achieve. Forces that are older then the NCR or the Legion, and more dangerous. Sometimes, the Old World just refused to die, and old rivalries refuse to stay extinguished. Post Game/Independent Vegas.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: You probably guessed already, but on the off chance some Bethesda lawyers are killing time on this site, I don't own any of this.**

Chapter 1: Dreams of the Old World

The Second Battle of Hoover Dam was one of the greatest military undertakings of the Post-War world. Within the ruins of one of the greatest societies of the old world, many smaller empires scavenged whatever they could over the rotting carcass of the nation. Three of the most powerful would intersect at the desert oasis New Vegas. The expansionistic NCR, the imperialistic Caesar's Legion, and the enterprising Mr. House. For nearly five years, a stalemate locked the bear and the bull in a standoff perpetuated by a ghost. It was only in the final year of the conflict that the final pawn made his move. Introduced by Robert House, Lars "Vega" Perez went from being a simple courier to the single most decisive factor of the Mojave conflict.

Amassing an army of robots, tribals, and steel soldiers, the courier's coalition became the army that House could never lead, ultimately leading for the pawn to overthrow his king. With his skills honed through many adventures, friends and followers earned through force of will, and a century old battle plan, the courier went against the Legion with the NCR at his back. After confronting the dreaded Legate Lanius, the courier forced the legionary champion to concede defeat. However, when General Oliver attempted seize New Vegas for himself, the courier responded by throwing him off the dam.

It was seen as the greatest "dark horse victory" in the history of the city of odds-makers. In a few months, a courier became a king, a city became a nation, and, unbeknownst to the players, a dragon was awakened.

Three hours after the major fighting dies down.

Remus and Barnabas had just splintered off from the rest of the horde as it traveled back to Arizona. Though they had been as loyal centurions as Caesar could have hoped, the man was dead, and Lanius commanded neither of their respect. Though that was what they told each other, in truth it was because they were both deeply afraid of that man. Shortly before the battle entered its final stage, they had both appraised the outcome and figured that, rather then return to Flagstaff as the vanquished, they could gather up a few soldiers and raid the caravans. Though it pained these prideful legionaries to stoop to such a degenerate level, the Mojave had been so kind to them, they refused to leave what they believed to be their true home.

After settling in an abandoned homestead, Remus and Barnabas had gathered around a campfire. Between them, thirty legionaries had joined them in deserting the main host. The men were spread out, cleaning their weapons, doing pushups, and establishing a perimeter. "So, what now, stulte! We have too few soldiers to survive more then a month," Remus growled. Barnabas tried to shush him. "Not in front of the men. We are all on this ship together. Complaining won't help us at this juncture." Remus spat in the fire. "You know what, you are right! Let us, instead, talk about how we are going to die. The NCR's dogs, the wildlife, the courier's robots, or the man himself, which do you think will kill us first? That is if Vulpes doesn't kill us once he finally realizes where we are?" Barnabas threw aside the iguana he was roasting. "If you are so eager to die, allow me to assist you in your passing!" Remus rose from his position, reaching for his machete, while Barnabas grabbed his spear. Only the fortunate arrival of a scout stopped any further bloodshed.

"Brother Remus, Brother Barnabas, I bring news!" the scout panted. Remus wheeled towards the scout "Be quick of it, we are in the middle of something!" The scout composed himself before continuing. "The NCR is gathering their forces and preparing to return to California." Barnabas snorted. "They're sending most of their men home because there's no war left to fight. What did you expect them to do?" The scout shook his head. "That's not what I meant, they are ALL leaving." Remus and Barnabas lowered their weapons, looking at each other with disbelief. "But wasn't the one named Vega working for NCR?" Barnabas asked. Remus was hit with a realization. "The courier won the war for himself. No NCR, no Legion, just him in that huge personal castle," he said as a smile slowly crept over his face. In a few short hours, the numbers of threats that menaced them had dwindled in half, and their chances of survival had risen from doomed to plausible. Remus and Barnabas embraced like brothers, laughing for the first time since the battle ended.

Later that night, Remus and Barnabas had taken up patrolling the camp perimeter while the men slept. "Alright, so I propose Primm. With the NCR gone, there is a single sheriff guarding the town. Against all of us, we can take the town with little trouble. We can have shelter, slaves, and an excellent trap for caravans." Remus proposed. Barnabas smirked. "Since when were you an optimist Remus? How long until the courier sends his machines to clear us out?" Remus shrugged. "The man is at home in a world of alcohol, money, and women? Why should he lose any sleep about that little town when he has a belly full of drink and his prick in a harlot every night for the rest of his life." Barnabas grinned. "I take it back, since when have you been so convincing?" Remus laughed as he continued, "and should the man ever leave, he would be so fat and sickly a Khan could kill him!" Barnabas had to stop as he caught his sides from laughing. If there was anyone he hated more then an NCR Ranger, it was that courier, and the thought of him being murdered by such a degenerate brought tears of joy to his eyes. It was then that he felt a hand on his back and heard a hushed "Silence, brother."

Barnabas looked up at his comrade, and noticed that he was staring at something a short distance away. Looking up, he saw, silhouetted against the lights of the city, was the figure of a woman, her back turned to the recently active raiders. Barnabas looked back at his partner, returning his grin. In the old days, it was standard procedure to take any female captives back to the stronghold before one could… partake in how a man takes a woman. Now, however, they could take her right then and there, and give her to the men when they were finished. If she was still alive by morning, she could make herself useful and carry the supplies. Weapons in hand, they approached the woman. She was standing by an overlook, so she had no avenue of escape. As they approached, she held out her arm in a halting gesture.

"You're either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish, profligate." Remus barked. The woman did not turn around. "Signal not for you," was all she said. It was then that the centurions heard a shimmering noise around them, and they looked seeing a dozen men in black, gold-visored high-tech suits pointing high-powered rifles at them. Only then did the woman turn around. "If I chose not to stop them, you would have died sooner." She was Asian, young, and not-quite-short with neck length hair. She wore what looked like a silk jacket, though her leggings betrayed that she was also wearing a suit similar to the men surrounding them. Remus and Barnabas did not flee Hoover Dam so they could die like this, so they nearly dropped their weapons, but the woman shook her head. "Keep them," then barked an order in a strange language to the men, who promptly re-shimmered and vanished.

"I have sent my men away. I have a proposition for you. The two of you will fight me. Should you win, I am yours to do with as you please. Should I win, I wish for y…" she was interrupted by Remus charging her in an instant. He lashed at her wildly, but the woman only moved slightly, dodging the onslaught with no space to spare. Barnabas stared in bewilderment at the woman, who seemed to be putting as much effort into avoiding the strikes as one would put towards breathing. Enraged at seeing his comrade in arms humiliated in such a manner, Barnabas readied his spear, waiting until Remus had pressured her back against the fence. He aimed it at that bitch's head. The moment her back touched the fence, he threw it, and after an eternity of anticipation, witnessed a sight he would never forget.

The woman, in a space of time that could not have exceeded a second, noticed the spear, moved her head out of the way, reached out and grabbed the spear, spun with the projectiles momentum, parried a blow from Remus when she came full circle, and buried it into the man's neck. Barnabas was still trying to process what happened when the woman spoke up again. "If I win, I would like for you to send a message to…" once again she was interrupted, this time by an enraged fist. Clearly annoyed, she grabbed his extended arm, and drove her knee into his straightened elbow, snapping the arm like a dry twig. She held on to the snapped arm, twisting it until she forced Barnabas to his knees. Her polite exterior was now extinguished, leaving nothing but a burning disgust etched in her face. "Very well then, I wish for you to send a message to your former leader, the one they call the Legate. Tell him that I represent a powerful group, one that can fulfill even his wildest ambitions. Should he accept my invitation, I will meet with him in a location of my choosing. Otherwise, he can stay and grow old in his meager empire."

The quiet of the night was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire in the distance. Despite the muddied nature of his thoughts, he immediately knew that he was completely alone. The woman held his face, her fingers digging into his skin. "Go back to your master, and pray he will have mercy on you. For I. Have. None." She dropped the man, leaving him to his heaving sobs and broken arm. As she walked away, one of her men re-shimmered next to her. "Madame Zhang, shall we send word back to the Empire?" Zhang looked pensive. "The Mojave desert will not be this vulnerable forever. The window of opportunity should close within a year. Make the call."

Six months later.

Lars Perez, known as Lars Vega to the locals, enjoyed a meteoric rise to prominence in his short thirty-five years on this hellscape. Once a tribal in the land formerly known as Oregon, he became a caravan guard shortly after he entered adulthood. After a few bad runs cost him some of his employers, and hence, his paydays, he took a more active approach as a mercenary, flushing out raiders. Eventually, he grew tired of that lifestyle and opted for a job at a slower pace as a courier. Heh, if only he had known. Now here he was, the grandmaster of New Vegas, The Lucky 38 was his new home, and he shared it with a few of his friends. Arcade Gannon and Veronica Santangelo had stayed with him after the battle of Hoover Dam, along with Rex, Rosie, and a handful of cybernetic Boston Terriers who chewed on the slot machines. He loved his friends, almost like a family, but sometimes, he felt lonely, and he would often leave the tower to travel throughout the city. The Three Families were enjoying a relatively stable peace, and he was on good terms with all the current heads. But today, like most days, he wanted something quieter.

Being something of a celebrity, he had worked to slowly but surely perfect the ability to make secret, non-discernable excursions. Sometimes he'd dress up like a gambler or a tourist and try to blend in with the guests. Usually, he wasn't recognized, and he had a plethora of disguises in case he had to retire one prematurely. Sometimes he'd gamble, sometimes he'd walk the wastes, and other times, he'd run an errand for Arcade or Veronica, any kind of outlet to stop feeling pent up. Recently, he was spending time with an outlet named Sarah Weintraub.

The perky, blonde, twenty-something had first met Lars after he had arrived at the Strip and tried to find a place to spend the night. After bonding over Vault-Tec gear, particularly the jumpsuits, Sarah made a bet with the courier that he couldn't find thirty intact vault-suits still in the wasteland in a week. Lars took her up on her offer, though after he left, Sarah suddenly felt guilty. She was agoraphobic, Molebu…err, Doctor Mitchell told her, and what she had learned about the outside world was enough to guarantee that she remained in Vault 21 forever. So imagine how shocked she was when he returned with all thirty suits just before the seventh day. Partly out of guilt, partly out of respect, she offered him dinner on the house. A couple hours later, one thing led to another, and she had gone from letting the courier come into her Vault, to into her life, to into her room, to into her.

Before New Vegas became independent, even before Lars came to New Vegas, he had usually enjoyed a good night at a brothel as any passerby would, but after becoming the man who "freed" Vegas, he had grown to treasure the "real" moments. Sarah, like his few good friends, didn't see him as some kind of "great visionary" or some bullshit like that. He was just a guy who shared an interest in vault suits, chess, robotic dogs, and bi-weekly one night stands.

After another session of intimacy, Lars laid in bed awake while Sarah wrapped her arms around him while she fell asleep. When the woman started to snore, Lars sat up, walked over to her fridge, grabbed a beer, and sat at her desk, trying to wonder what to do next. If there was one lesson he had learned after the NCR-Legion War, it was that the conquest tasted sweeter then victory. He winced, the last thing he needed to do was sound like that pompous Caesar-wannabe Lanius, but he had to confess, there was some wisdom in that. In actuality, one of the main reasons he took over Vegas was so he could put the screws into Mr. House and Benny. Come to think of it, spite dictated a lot of his reasoning, the more he thought about it.

He wasn't stupid, though, and when he focused on the bigger picture, he could see that if he wanted his new kingdom intact, he was going to need both the Legion and the NCR as strong as they could be. Sometimes, the safest place to be was between a hungry bear and an angry bull, he guessed. That was why he let Lanius walk away, in order to keep some semblance of order in the Legion. Even though he hated them almost as much as Boone did, a healthy Legion kept the NCR on its toes.

Speaking of the NCR, despite the generally friendly nature he held towards them, the reason he kicked out most of the NCR military was mostly because from what he had seen of them, they made better tourists then managers. As expected, there was a lot of backlash towards the NCR's failure to take the Mojave. Fortunately for Lars, most of that backlash went towards the leaders in the government who pushed for the campaign. Eventually, it was decided that the lions share of the blame would be directed to General Oliver, who was somewhere at the bottom of the Hoover Dam. Though it was a regrettably impulsive move on the courier's part, he was relieved that the general's bad calls and glory hounding had caught up with him back home, where few mourned his loss. Apparently, only President Kimball and Colonel Moore really missed him, though allegedly Moore got over it quickly enough thanks to a recent power vacuum that promoted her to general.

Recently, Crocker and a small (emphasis on small) contingent of NCR troops were allowed back into the city to handle negotiations. He figured he could leave them to his team of diplomatic ambassadors, Lars thought to himself. The thought made him start to chuckle. "What's so funny, Perez?" Lars, startled to the point he almost choked on his beer, turned around to see Sharon Cassidy leaning on the doorframe. Of all the companions he had travelled with, Sharon Cassidy was, in his opinion, the best. They both had a propensity for shotguns, brawling, alcohol, dry humor, black humor, sexual humor, and sleeping under the stars. Lars stood up, before realizing that he wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion.

Cass feigned shock. "Oh, good sir, your indecency may just cause me to faint," pretending to swoon. Lars grabbed his pants, which had been flung haphazardly on Sara's dresser, putting them on. "Don't peep shows cost money?" he said, holding out his hand, expectantly. Cass snorted, "Oh, what, you've already blown your jackpot so badly that you're hitting up little old me for help? As soon as Cassidy Caravan is back in the black again, you're a paying customer, just like everyone else." Despite selling the name to her caravan out to a rival competitor, recent events, which she _totally_ had nothing to do with, lead the Crimson Caravan to sell back her name at loss. Upon getting back her name, she purchased a Brahmin, and hired Craig Boone, Raul Tejada, and Lily Bowen as security. After their one-sided annihilation of a joint Viper-Jackal ambush, their services were in high demand throughout both the NCR and New Vegas. Even clients in Legion territory were interested, except for Boone's…emphatic answer to any and all such requests.

"What are you still doing up anyway? It's like…" he glanced over at the clock on the wall "…three in the morning." Cass laughed it off. "Like bed time ever meant anything for us, Perez. The gang was in the area and we figured we'd drop by and say hello." She looked from Lars to the sleeping Sarah. "Seems you've found ways to entertain yourself without me." Lars rubbed his eyes awake. "You are more then welcome to join us any time you want." Cass looked Sarah over. "I'll admit; she's cute. Lousy taste in men, though," she assessed. Lars threw on his duster, a gift from a "friend" he was in no hurry to meet again. "Alright then, Cass, so what's your deal, today?" he asked. Cass looked at him, as if she wanted to say something, but chose not to. The courier knew better, though. "C'mon, since when have you ever been for biting your tongue?" he goaded.

Cass wistfully sighed. "It's just… is this you?" she said, motioning towards the vault, and the direction she came in. "A handful of casinos and some slums? This is all you are worth? And you're OK with that?" Lars stalled by looking for his bandana and black cowboy hat. He had avoided asking himself this question for a while. "It's not about worth, it's just that I feel… responsible for it," he answered. Cass scoffed at the response. "Vegas could take care of itself before you came along, Vega, I don't think you should have to worry about it. You've set up a decent enough administration so the city won't fall apart the moment you leave the gates. I'm sure Yes-man and the families can deal whatever comes up in your absence. What do you say? Miss the Mojave?" Lars mulled it over, before downing the rest of the beer in a single gulp. "You still didn't tell me what the plan was," he insisted.

Cass cracked her neck. "A client from the NCR has requested we make a delivery from the Hub to San Francisco. We were just going to spend the night here, then head out in the morning to meet with the contact. It'll be just like old times; what do you say?" It had been years since Lars had set foot in proper NCR territory. Surely, he thought, if anyone could use a vacation, he could. "Alright, just let me get my affairs in order, and I'll be right with you. Just… let me wait until morning, if it's all the same to you." Cass nodded, then yawned. "AAAAaalrighty then, I'll just rent out some rooms at the Tops and wait until you're finished. Don't be a stranger, Perez," and with that, the Rose of Sharon Cassidy slunk back to the surface world. Lars sat back at the desk, and before he could stop himself, pondered if he should have worked harder at keeping their relationship after things had gone south. No, Lars, that's enough; you've dwelled on that shit for way too long. Now he needed something to take his mind off of it. Fortunately for him, Sarah was waking up.

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE: 2282 EDITION

Mojave: Formerly an old world desert, the Mojave Wasteland makes up much of southern California, Nevada, and parts of Utah and Arizona. While the western end is largely behind NCR territory, the eastern end in Nevada has become part of a new nation. With New Vegas situated as the capital city, Mojave takes up the southern tip of Nevada, bordering the three other states. Its leader, Lars Perez, rules the sovereign nation as a semi-autocratic governor. After usurping Robert House's securitron army, the ex-courier ousted both the New California Republic and Caesar's Legion from South Nevada, consolidating his territory. He largely focuses on security, leaving domestic and economic issues to his immediate subordinates, led by Yes-man.

**And that, ladies and gentlemen, is chapter one. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thoughts, critiques, and encouragement are all valued here!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note: You guys… seriously, you guys are the ****_best_****! A heartfelt shout-out to OB1 me, dead for life (sorry about that, btw) and Grimjawa for their critique and feedback!**

Chapter 2: Dragon Rising

Lars finally left Vault 21 just before sunrise. Feeling…refreshed, he glanced around the city, seeing very few people about. It made sense, in a way, as the early morning was when New Vegas was at it's slowest, considering that most of the tourists burnt out their energy during the night. He glanced across the street towards the NCR offices, and was met with the steely glares of the NCR military police. Though NCR tourists continued to flock to the city in droves, there was an element of resentment that flooded through the military. Five years of bloodshed, all for naught thanks to a man who had largely been an ally. It wasn't so much because he had Oliver chucked off the dam; the rank-and-file seemed to secretly appreciate that one, but because the courier's decision had ended up overwriting their own sacrifices, allowing the courier to go down in history while their brothers and sisters evidently died in a quagmire with little to nothing to show for it. Lars waved politely, but got no response.

The courier leisurely strolled up the Strip, passing his Securitrons as they patrolled up and down the road. For a bunch of TVs on wheels, the new security upgrade was a force to be reckoned with. Just as well, as the "Couriers Coalition" as Mr. New Vegas was fond of mentioning recently, was effectively disbanded. Though the Three Families were still allies, the other facets of his army, the Brotherhood of Steel, the Boomers, and the remnants of the Enclave, went back to minding their own business, either hassling travelers or, in the Enclave's case, went back in hiding. With the Legion in retreat, the Khans evacuated, and the Fiends all but exterminated, the Mojave was as peaceful as the courier could ever hope to manage. The new problems that were rising, however, were of a more domestic nature. Truth be told, Lars felt he had neither the talent, patience, or skill for that shit, which was why he was so damn eager to blow this joint for a little while. Swank, Cachino, and Marjorie could run the Strip for a couple weeks, and Yes-man could nip any funny business in the bud, should any problems arise.

As he arrived at the Lucky 38, he saw two familiar figures. One was dressed in an NCR uniform, though Lars could recognize that red beret anywhere. The other was a ghoul dressed in a sombrero and a poncho. Both were sitting on the steps leading up to the casino, and parked out front was a Brahmin. "Boone, Raul, what the hell have you been up too?" Lars said, beaming. "Oh, hey boss, how's royalty treating you?" Raul asked. "Long time, no see," Boone deadpanned. "Lars, honey, give grandma a hug!" a voice roared behind him. Turning around, Lars could make out some slight distortions in the dim light. "Lily!" Lars grinned, putting his arms around the distortions. He turned back to the other two. "I hear the three of you've been busy," he proclaimed. Raul shrugged. "Eh, you learn to live with it before too long. Isn't that right Boone?" the ghoul asked. Boone mmh-hmmed in response.

"So, you guys say hi to Arcade and Ronnie?" the courier asked. "Oh, they are just the dearests, aren't they? Arcade has just been working so hard these past months, hasn't he? And sweet little Veronica has been such good little assistant, isn't that right?" Lily reveled. Lars nodded, approvingly. Thanks to his little… adventure just south of the Mojave, he had unearthed some… interesting Pre-war tech. Arcade had been spending weeks going over and analyzing the projects, and was working hand and hand with the Followers of the Apocalypse to expand the benefits of these discoveries outside of New Vegas. Veronica, however, was a little less optimistic. After expulsing herself from the Brotherhood of Steel, she had witnessed first hand that her former family would be absolutely ruthless towards any organization that would take her in. Out of sympathy, Lars offered her a place at the Lucky 38, where even the Brotherhood would hesitate to follow her. There, she helped Arcade reverse-engineer the new discoveries, and helped maintain the courier's equipment.

Lars looked around, noticing that someone was missing. "And where would the boss happen to be?" he asked. Lily nervously cleared her throat. "Ahem, I'm afraid that Ms. Cassidy is occupied at the moment, so we are going to have to wait…" it was at that moment that Raul and Boone both pointed towards Gomorrah. Lars laughed as Lily scolded the other two. When the mood took her, Cass could be petty and spiteful, and she rarely turned down an opportunity to rub salt into the wound that had been their old relationship. It was one of the many wonderful things about her that attracted Lars to her in the first place. "Calm down Lily, they were just being honest. In fact, I really got to get some equipment anyway. See you in a bit," he said, as he walked up the steps into the casino.

Shortly after the liberation of New Vegas, Lars had opened up the bottom floor of the casino to help generate some additional revenue. However, after two lovable cyber-dogs created a small pack of yelping, nigh-indestructible puppies, the slot machines ended up heavily damaged when the dogs came to visit. Most of the machines were sold for scrap, with the newly opened up space being converted into a workshop for Veronica. "Sup boss, you had fun last night?" Veronica asked, screwing on something to a rifle. "You know I do, Ronnie. How's the weapon doing?" questioned Lars. "One asshole-mentor special, coming right up," she said as she plopped the holorifle in front of him. The holorifle was a lifeline in the Sierra Madre, and that didn't change when he came back to the Mojave. To Lars, having a signature weapon that couldn't be duplicated was as much a tactical benefit as it was a vanity issue. "Looks good, hardly a scratch on it," he complimented. "Course not, that's your job," quipped Veronica. Lars chuckled, before adding, "I'll be heading out to the NCR today, so I'll be gone for a couple of weeks. Tell Arcade I said goodbye, and try to keep him from killing himself." "No promises, and try to decide whether or not you're over your ex, while you're at it," called out Veronica when he left. "Ditto," he said as he shut the door. Though his farewells to Veronica were usually this short, he had made it a habit of treating his absences like no big deal around her. The poor girl had to say goodbye too many times already.

He left the building the same time Cass had left Gomorrah. "So, anyway, I thought about your offer earlier this morning, and I figured it wasn't actually a bad idea. Sadly, the only two guys I were looking for were busy, so I just settled for a drink and a dance," said Cass as she stretched leisurely in front of the group. "Well, you can't always get what you want, Cass. Unless you're me of course, then you get to be a billionaire," Lars responded, happily. Cass returned the same stupid smile. "Ha-ha, hilarious you fuck'en smartass," she joked. "Language!" barked Lily "Sorry, ghost grandma," Cass said, reasonably sincere. And with that, the five friends led their Brahmin out of the city gates, and into the wild blue yonder.

Later, fifty miles to the east.

Vulpes Inculta waited impatiently for nearly a day. It wasn't usual that the second most powerful legionary was kept waiting, then again, the Legion wasn't quite what it used to be. With Caesar and Lucius dead, he and the Legate had been promoted to the second and first command, respectively. However, with two defeats under their belts, the momentum was turning against the Legion. Word spread to the barbarian raiders from Colorado and New Mexico, and they were amassing together with the express purpose of breaking the back of the army. If that happened, Vulpes thought, I'd be as good as dead. He made many enemies out west, and an army behind him was the only thing keeping the bounty hunters away. Though he would sooner turn himself in then admit it, he had to ensure that the Legate continued to unify the Legion. Sadly, the man was too busy fighting skirmishes out in the east to be useful at administration, so he had to deal with this business himself.

Three months ago, a lone formerly missing centurion named Barnabas crawled sobbing and bleeding into Flagstaff. After Lanius learned that he was a deserter, he demanded the man be crucified. Vulpes managed to dissuade him, and convinced him to let him interrogate the man. A few fingers, teeth, and buckets of blood later, the man insisted up and down that some monster disguised as a woman and an army of ghosts had ambushed him. After a week of the procedures, Vulpes decided to call it a night one afternoon, but when he returned, he found his captive dead, with strange symbols carved on the forehead of his decapitated skull. Vulpes kept the mysterious murder a secret from the rest of the Legion, only trusting his most loyal Frumentarii with the secret. A few weeks later, one of his apprentices, a trainee named Titus, brought something to his attention. At the nearby university, there was a book on the long dead language called "Chinese."

Translating the symbols told them to head down to the Skywalk of the Grand Canyon during a full moon. He was unable to attend the first meeting due to an emergency council called by Lanius. It was another march by the horde against some other nameless parasites who couldn't pose a serious threat even if their numbers where tripled, but Lanius wasn't the most feared man of the Legion because of his subtlety. Now, however, Lanius slept, and Vulpes was "scouting" against other barbarian tribals. Now it was a full moon, the wind was kicking up dust around them, and his entourage grew impatient and fearful.

Soon, an alarm spread throughout the group. A figure was sighted just coming up from the south. Vulpes considered the situation for a moment, then ordered his men to discreetly climb a nearby hill, and keep their rifles trained on the man while he went to greet him. As his men slunk off, he braced himself. He knew firsthand just how dangerous individuals could be, and after Nipton, vowed never to be that blind again.

As he approached, he got a better look at the man. He was Asian, nearly fifty, not-quite-tall, bald with a sharp goatee, and wearing an open silk jacket, while carrying a sword behind his back. Vulpes approached cautiously, raising his hand to shield himself from the dust the wind picked up. Thanks to his goggles, he could see the man's face clearly. It was severe, harsh, and commanded respect, but it was the eyes that concerned him most. They were cruel, cold and calculating. Just like mine, Vulpes thought.

The man began the conversation. "You are not what I envisioned, Legate." Vulpes was silent. Do I play the fool, be honest, or pretend to be that oaf, he thought to himself. "I am Vulpes Inculta, commander of the Frumentarii, and commander of Caesar's Legion," he finally answered. The man snorted, a cold sneer creeping on his face. "An underling to an underling to a man pretending to be a god. To a _dead man_ who pretended to be a god," he sneered. Vulpes did not respond. He is obviously trying to incite me, he assessed. "I am a survivor and a conqueror. Few truly know who I am, and those who do fear me," he replied. "I've heard of your stories, Inculta, and know of your reputation. A snake amongst wolves and jackals, you legionaries are all merely animals." Again with the baiting? "Yet, you've worked so hard to get my attention. Tell me, why couldn't the woman come to meet me. The one my man told me was a monster?" he asked. This time, genuine hate crossed the man's face. "Two of your "finest soldiers" attempted to force themselves on her when she wished to speak with them. As punishment, one was killed and the other was sent back as a message. And I personally ordered the execution of the men who followed them," the man added with a smirk.

Vulpes seemed unconcerned. "You said so yourself, they were just animals. Animals trained to fight and obey. Just like yours, I imagine. Let's see, there's one on your right, one right behind you, so I imagine the rest are making their way around the hill." For the first time, the man's smile faded. "And how have you deduced such?" Now it was Inculta's turn to smirk. "I thought it was obvious. As I studied the symbols you left behind, I also read up on Chinese history. During the pre-War era, a contingent of the People's Liberation Army was trained from birth to wear a special "stealth suit." They were called the "Crimson Dragoons." Sounds a lot like the ghosts Barnabas spoke of. Of course, invisibility can be defeated by conditions like a dust storm, as I can notice the gaps in the wind. I'm sure my men have too, which is probably why your men haven't started shooting yet?"

The man stared. "Continue," was his only response. "I think I know who you are, _zhong jiang. _That emblem on your sleeve is a dead giveaway, though I suppose few people on this continent would recognize it anyway. What I don't know is whether or not you are merely criminals who got lucky in finding a few toys, or the genuine article? Furthermore, if you are the genuine article, why are you asking for our help, and what is going to stop you from betraying us at the first moment's convenience?" Vulpes finished. He silently wondered if he revealed too many of his cards, as that wretched city was fond of quoting.

The man stood silent, and then commanded his men to de-stealth. As they did, they followed his lead, and bowed to Inculta. Normally, Vulpes would have been smug, but he had played the sycophant for far too long to be unable to recognize the distinction between genuine respect and pandering. In another life, he probably could have run for the NCR senate. As the man rose, he spoke. "My name is Feng Jiasheng, and I have a proposition for you…"

Meanwhile, in what used to be San Francisco…

Jarrod Van Graff was not a pleasant man, nor was he a well-liked man, but the one thing he wanted to be was a respected man. At the end of they day, he told himself, guns could be bought, but respect had to be earned. There were a few things that he respected. His mother, Tiaret, or Momma Van Graff as the family was fond of saying. The Gun Runners, for being the measuring stick by which all arms dealers were measured. NCR Rangers, because they were badass. And finally, he respected his crew. Despite having no business savvy whatsoever, he and his team of mercenaries had grown to be really good at storming in somewhere and leaving nothing behind but dust and vapor. Collateral damage was just a number, and as long as it didn't affect their payday, they had no reason to care if their employers did not.

As his crew entered the gates of Shi-town, he recalled the pleasant memories that the town held. When he first started out, it was just he and a few friends armed with weapons that they had "borrowed" from the family storeroom. Looking for work, they had mostly spent their time harassing local bars and running from the police. That was until they got a message from the Shi. They had been a secret organization that descended from the crew of a stranded Chinese submarine, who took up refuge in (surprise) Chinatown. At first, they were just a bunch of tech-junkies who wanted to be left alone, but soon, they apparently underwent a change in management, becoming one of the most dominant criminal empires in the New California Republic. He should have realized something was up when the formerly benign Shi asked him and his buddies to wipe out a group called the "Hubologists" that was apparently seeing a resurgence in members or something.

A few charred corpses later, he was paid in silver; honest-to-God silver, by the bastard who practically ran the city now. Some bastard named Jiasheng, from what he could remember. Apparently, the surviving Hubologists sold the rest of their territory to the Shi at loss, practically handing over the entire city to them. He arrived outside the Steel Palace, and noticed some redecorating was going on. Formerly built out of the submarine the sailors were marooned on, the palace seemed to have quadrupled in size since the last time he was here. Apparently, the roof had added a bunch of those "pagoda" thingies the place seemed to love so much. As he entered, he noticed a nervous young woman working at a desk. "Oh, so sorry. You must be the big man Lady Zhang wanted to hire. I shall let her know you are here." She then spoke through the intercom, "_Zhāng fūrén, yúchǔn de bèndàn zài zhèlǐ. Wǒ yīnggāi gàosu tā gǔn kāi_? She waited for a second, and then heard a beep over the radio. "She will see you now, top floor, please take care, _bèndàn_" she said, waving. Jarrod ignored the woman, and headed to the elevator.

When he reached the top, he entered a sparsely decorated room, and saw a woman on the other side of the room. The entire room seemed to subsist of mostly wood and paper, and what little light was in the room. Beside her, two dim torches illuminated a single woman, sitting on a mat. Jarrod was about to step forward when he heard the woman command "Stop." Rising from the mat, the woman continued, "You are Jarrod Van Graff, correct? My predecessor spoke highly of your invaluable services. There is an urgent matter of which your… talents are needed. You've heard of Cassidy Caravans, have you not? Your half brother, a Jean-Baptiste Cutting, was rumored to have been killed by the owner, correct? Well, as we speak, her caravan is heading through NCR territory, towards this very town. I would like you to intercept the caravan, and wipe them out, all of them." She walked towards him. "Take as many men with you as you see fit. Succeed, and you will be the wealthiest Van Graff by a significant margin." Jarrod was a holotape junkie, and he loved his movie clichés, so he couldn't resist adding, "And you'll kill me if I fail?" The woman snorted. "Why bother, if you fail, they'll do it for me." Apart from respect, the next best thing that Jarrod Van Graff respected was honesty, and so it was that Jarrod Van Graff gathered up twenty of his best crew and headed out to the Long 15, preparing to intercept the caravan.

At Hidden Valley

Elder McNamara looked on nervously as several scribes tinkered with the archive room. Recently, Head Scribe Taggart had come across some encrypted information. After several weeks of late nights, mentats, and shouting matches with the other scribes, the decoded information revealed a back door to the former United States satellite observation network. The intelligence community back then was ever expanding, and satellites had been able to spy on the various governments and militaries of the world. The brotherhood desperately needed any advantage it could get its hands on, so all-available hands had been working to establish a connection to the network.

"Eureka!" Taggert exclaimed, excitedly. McNamara exhaled. "We are connected?" he asked. Scribe Ibsen pushed his glasses up. "Just about. Looks like some of the satellites have become so corroded that accessing them will be useless, but it looks like we can piggyback on these six." Some of the initiates had hooked up a monitor in the achieve room that could transmit images from the satellite, in theory. "Here we go, satellite 37690-63419-05326, coming on screen now," declared Taggart. The heading on the monitor listed the images as coming from the former United Kingdom.

As expected, London had been bombed full of craters, but there was some movement in the city. "Can we magnify?" McNamara asked. After some bickering, the scribes obliged. The image zoomed closer, revealing what appeared to be a ghoul wearing some kind of makeshift armor, carrying a spear. Apparently, he was standing guard over a rally of some kind, as the ghoul speaker was on a podium, apparently whipping the thousands strong crowd into a frenzy. "Glad I'm not there," Paladin Hardin joked, leaning on the wall. "They don't look like a friendly bunch," he added.

Taggart typed in a new ID number. The image went fuzzy for a little, then came up to what looked like a snowy wasteland. The header for the image read Russia. Apparently not much had changed. They scrolled over the landscape for a few minutes when something appeared in the corner of the screen. "Wait a minute, on the northern corner, zoom in about 20x," ordered McNamara. They saw two figures, heavily bundled, trying to trudge quickly though the snow. It was almost as if something was chasing them. To the viewers' horror, a huge fifteen-foot mutant, covered in matted-white hair, bounded after the two escapees. To McNamara's and the groups horror, the creature leaped onto the straggling member, grabbed the figures torso in its jaws, and ripped a chunk of flesh of the body. It turned its attention towards the figures partner, who was firing at the creature with a handgun. The creature promptly threw its meal at the other figure, knocking him of his feet. "Turn it off," McNamara begged, as the creature grabbed the surviving figure by the foot and began slamming it into the ground. The snow gave way to dark stains. "DAMMIT, I SAID TURN IT OFF," he screamed.

The scribes hurriedly obliged. Hardin looked over at the elder, watching the man's cold sweat drip down his face. Ever since the journeyman scribe Veronica turned her back on her people, McNamara had gotten soft when it come to the plights of outsiders. Maybe he didn't like thinking about Veronica, or maybe her Parthian shots left a mark on the man. Hardin would have to make a note to regularly check to see if the Elders head was on the right way. "Ehem, it looks like we can confirm the reports of Russian genetic engineering projects," Ibsen decided to note. "Just change the damn satellite," groaned Hardin.

Finally, the monitor settled on Hawaii. Interestingly, Hawaii had not been severely bombed as had been previously thought. Most of the islands still held onto their local flora. Though it seemed to hold no intel or benefits to the brotherhood, the four members found themselves mesmerized by the simple phenomenon that were trees. Real trees! Though McNamara wanted nothing more then to continue watching the part of the planet that was still alive, he forced himself to remember the reason they had accessed the satellites in the first place. "Check Pearl Harbor, if you can," ordered McNamara. Taggart inputted the coordinates, and the camera moved to rest over Pearl Harbor. Once the camera settled, the room became dead silent. The military base had been abandoned during the Great War, seeing as all available ships were either assisting in the invasion of Red China or hunting down the Chinese submarine fleet. So that raised an interesting question to the Brotherhood of Steel. What was a fleet of Chinese warships doing anchored in Hawaii two hundred years later?

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Mojave Brotherhood of Steel: A splinter from the original California Brotherhood of Steel, the Mojave chapter settled in the outpost shortly after the disastrous NCR-Brotherhood War. Their misfortune continued after the Battle of Helios One, which cost the group half their members and their former headquarters, driving them to a secret bunker. Following the NCR's retreat, Brotherhood members have been sighted along Interstate 95 and around Helios One. Though only a fraction of their former power, they are considered to be extremely dangerous. It is advised not to engage them in combat, at least without overwhelming support or top-line energy weaponry.

**Cliffhanger… and… chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: What are friends for?**

Somewhere in Northern NCR territory

The town of Redding wasn't the biggest city in the NCR, but it had its reputation as one of the quietest and the safest. Far away from the more aggressive tribals and the crime families of New Reno, Redding was one of the few places in the new world that deserved to be considered "safe." Natalie knew, however, that one if its more recent, permanent members wasn't at all interested in safety, just peace. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she hoped the man would meet with her.

Standing outside the ranch house, she took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. "Go away, no more interviews!" a voice shouted inside. "It's not that, Chief, I just want to talk," she shouted back. She heard someone knock something over, then watched the screen door pull open, revealing a tired, old man wearing woolen pajamas. Rubbing his tired eyes, he looked at the young, dusky-skinned, pixie faced ranger. "Ranger Hale, a pleasure you could come by!" he said, as if never suspecting she was some busybody reporter or autograph seeker. Welcoming her inside, he motioned towards the sitting room, asking her to ignore the pillow and blanket. "I can't believe you recognized me at all, let alone so quickly," Natalie said, sitting down on a on the couch. "Heh, I'd never forget a Ranger, least of all one of the last I trained. By the way, it's Mr. Hanlon now, not Chief," Hanlon said, sitting down on a recliner.

"Whatever you say, Chief," replied Hale. Like many rangers, Hanlon was her idol, and the fact that she had the privilege to train under him was something she fully intended to bore her grandkids with. "Hm, well, as much as I'd love to reminisce, I have a feeling I know what you are here for, and the answer is no," Hanlon stated, bluntly. Damn it, Natalie thought to herself, he's been keeping up with current events. "Just please, Chief, hear me out…" she started. "I said I retired, and I intend to stay that way. Sorry," Hanlon shrugged, apologetically. "Please, Chief, you're the only one they'll listen to!" Natalie begged. "In their minds, we made a contract, and we can't keep up our end of the bargain. No amount of accolades and speeches from the old man are going to change their minds," the Chief stated, matter-of-factly.

Eleven years ago, the NCR Rangers signed a treaty with the Desert Rangers to unite against the swelling threat of the Legion. In exchange for much needed re-enforcements at Hoover Dam, the Desert Rangers would supplement the NCR, providing them with their expertise and experience. However, with the NCR expulsed from most of Nevada, many of the Desert Rangers were demanding that they return home. Since the NCR was no longer responsible for New Vegas or the Dam, the treaty was, in their minds, nullified. The new chief of the Rangers, a veteran named Duane Murdock, was barely keeping the peace within the group, while keeping the rest of the military command from getting involved.

Natalie fell back on the couch, vexed by the stubbornness of the old man. "Listen, I know that isn't what you want to hear, but my era, whatever that means, ended at Hoover Dam. Whatever the new generation holds is for what you make of it, Natty," he offered, smiling sadly. "This could break us for good, Chief. There might not be a next generation if this happens. A lot of people think we lost at Hoover Dam!" she vented. "And just how many of those people actually fought at Hoover Dam?" Hanlon answered, loudly. Natalie looked away from the Chief, dejectedly. Realizing what he just said, Hanlon offered an, "I'm sorry, I forgot…"

Natalie Hale had been inducted into the fellowship of Rangers shortly before the onset of the First Battle of Hoover Dam. Unlike many of her compatriots, however, she never had a chance to serve, being stuck behind a desk just outside Shady Sands. Usually, she was stuck patrolling trade routes, and occasionally assisted in bringing down a smuggling ring. While this had been going on, the rest of her class had fought, and many had died, during the Mojave campaign. She'd never worn patrol armor, as her duties had been keeping her away from seeing combat, so she never had worn more then a hat, dress shirt, vest, and khakis. She had never even been under fire. Though she never spoke it, it was apparent to anyone who knew her that she felt unworthy of the badge.

"So anyway, as I was saying, forget those people. Besides, Murdock is a smart fella, if anyone can handle the situation, he can," Hanlon offered. Natalie sighed. "You said it yourself, the Desert Rangers are dead-set on leaving the Republic," she muttered. "Well, only as long as New Vegas remains independent," Hanlon offered. "Come to think of it, you don't seem to be that upset about that traitor, anyway," said Natalie, spitting out the word traitor. Hanlon shrugged. "The way I see it, either "Vegaland" falls when Mr. Perez gets bored enough, and we sweep in to pick up his mess. Or, barring that, he keeps his little kingdom, it doesn't burn down, and the people have somewhere safe to lay their heads. Do either options seem so horrible to you?" he asked, rhetorically. "It's just, all that bloodshed, and it all results in him…" "I know, and believe me, it isn't healthy to lose any sleep over it," he advised. He paused for a moment. "If the Rangers do dissolve, do you think you're going to stay over in the NCR, or go to Nevada with the Desert Rangers?" he asked. "What the… what the hell kind of question is that?" Natalie balked. "Just humor me, where do you think you'd be happier?" he asked.

Natalie thought about it. She signed up with the Rangers, in part, to follow in her older brother's footsteps. He was killed prior to reaching veteran ranger status, so she had figured reaching the black armor was the best way she could honor his memory. For six years, however, she'd been stuck in safety, never putting herself in any real danger. Though it would mean leaving home, joining the Desert Rangers would mean… "Just one question. If I join up with the Desert Rangers, does that mean I'd have to answer to Perez?" she asked. Hanlon blinked. "I… can't say I've thought of it like that. Would that be an issue for you?" he questioned. Natalie paused for a moment. "How do I put this… diplomatically?" She leaned forward. "Fuck. That. Guy."

At the California-Nevada boarder…

Lars and Boone stood at the checkpoint, looking out at the long highway that lay before them. Cass was busy signing some paperwork, Raul was catching a quick nap, and Lily was keeping to herself, not wanting to draw attention in a military checkpoint. "So, how's the rest of the NCR," he asked. Boone shrugged. "Still there. Why'd you ask?" Lars rubbed the back of his head. "Well, what are people saying about New Vegas," he insisted. Boone let out a short laugh. "I see. You're just anxious to see if there's another bullet waiting for you there, too. Well, you'll be pleased to know that most people are just pissed at Kimball and Oliver," he answered. "Uh-huh, most… but not all," Lars figured. "Alright, I admit, I've heard some pretty unflattering things about you in a few bars between here and the Pacific. Mostly military. You thinking about going home?" Boone goaded. "Heh, if the NCR was going to take a shot at me, they've had more then enough opportunity. Sucks about the casualties, but hey, no more Legion, right?" Lars grinned. Boone snorted.

"Problem, Boone?" Vega asked. "The Legion would be dead right now if you'd killed Lanius at the dam, instead of letting him limp away," the sniper said, bluntly. Lars closed his eyes. He'd been dreading this conversation. "Boone, I know. Believe me, no one enjoys seeing dead legionaries more then me, but you have to understand, I didn't make that decision lightly," Lars explained. Boone curled his lip. "Of course not, not when you realized how useful they could be at keeping the NCR away from your little playhouse," Boone spat, bitterly. Lars wheeled on the sniper. "The hell, man? I asked you about this after the fight, and you were cool with it?" Boone growled, "At first, I thought it just meant that I'd take a shot at the bastard, but now I realize you only care about beating things that happen to inconvenience you. You don't give a damn about the people the Legion hurts. Out of sight, out of mind, isn't that right?" Lars felt himself getting hotter. "Oh, you're still worried about the Legion trampling over people? Lanius has probably killed more of those fuckers then either of us! Besides, they aren't the only ones who mess people up. Bitter Springs ring any bells?"

All the life seemed to leave Boone's face. Lars recognized this. Every time Boone entered this state, there never failed to be a body count shortly afterwards. Secretly, Lars could count all the people he was afraid of on one hand. Boone just happened to be one of those people. They were standing nose to nose. Do I step back and reach for my rifle, or do I take him down right now, he asked himself, before he realized what he was thinking. His thoughts were interrupted by a gunshot.

Both men turned to see Raul standing a few feet away, pistol raised above his head. The ghoul leered at both men. "Now, now, both of you have way too many enemies to deal with before you start fighting each other. What do you two say? You still wanna fight so badly, I'll happily ref," he said, the gruff cheeriness of his tone contrasted dissonantly against the glare he was aiming at both of them. A door slammed open behind them, and a military officer wearing power armor stormed towards the group. "What in the sweet blazing hell is going on here?! Which one of you degenerate fucks opened fire at this juncture?!" the man barked. Raul nonchalantly turned around, raising his hands inoffensively. "Sorry boss, saw a buzzard perch on the statues hat, and I didn't want it to crap all over your fine establishment." The officer in power armor looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. "Do you think I'm going to buy that dead horse-shit you're selling, maggot?! I'm going to throw you in a hole so deep; you'll…" it was then that Cass arrived outside.

Turning to the officer, she politely requested that the officer "leave the matter to her." She then grabbed Raul by the collar, and screamed "You stupid, grab-asstic piece of amphibious shit! I am not paying you to shoot at buzzards; I'm paying you to provide security, you amateur! Do I make myself clear?!" Raul hastily nodded. Cass released him, and then apologized to the soldier for the trouble. "You do realize that I'll have to detain your caravan for the time being," he stated, matter-of-factly. Cass looked hurt. "Royez, I'm surprised. You know I'm good with the paperwork, and no one got hurt. What do you just say you look the other way, and we'll stop being such a nuisance," she purred. "Absolutely not, orders are orders, and I have to screen everyone who crosses the checkpoint. No exceptions," he stated flatly. Cass moved in close, pressed her body against his armor, and looked at him lustily, stroking his face with one hand, while dropping a handful of caps into his palm with the other. "… You're free to go," he then stated, just as flatly.

As they left, Cass growled at Raul that she was not going to pay for his ammo. The ghoul apologized profusely. They were followed by their Brahmin, which was fussed after by Lily. Boone and Lars brought up the rear, not speaking to each other or making eye contact. "… Sorry. That was a low blow," Lars confessed. "…Yeah," Boone responded. "… I'm not trying to hurt anyone," Lars continued. "… I know," Boone acknowledged. "So… we cool?" Lars asked, hopefully. "…Sure," answered Boone.

At the Lucky 38

Veronica checked her watch, then looked out the window of the cocktail lounge. It was getting dark, and she was worried about him walking through Freeside alone, by himself. Nah, she thought, shaking her head, he can take care of himself. She went back to her business of cleaning out the glasses on the bar shelf. As many of the glasses had never been used, this activity served no practical value. However, she enjoyed working with her hands, even after she stopped working shop. Occasionally, Lars would throw a party for some of the New Vegas high rollers and NCR bigwigs, apparently in an effort to ease the tensions between the two nations, opening up a vacancy for a part-time bartender. On those days, she would discard her comfortable Brotherhood robes and wear something a little…flashier. Now, however, it was potato-sack chic for the afternoon.

The elevator dinged, and out stumbled an exhausted Arcade Gannon, barely stifling a yawn as he inched his way towards Ronnie. Ever the recluse, Dr. Gannon usually spent his nights in the Lucky 38, mostly because it if he had remained in the Mormon Fort, he would never be able to pry himself away from the discoveries that Lars unlocked at the Big MT. Lars was adamant that he take periodic breaks, and didn't fall in love too much in the pursuit of SCIENCE! (For some reason, he started to always emphasize the word, out of habit, apparently).

"What'll it be pal?" droned Veronica as Arcade took a seat. Before dropping his face on the counter, he looked up at the part-time bartender through bleary eyes. "You know how to make a Mojito, yet?" he asked. Veronica answered by grabbing a random bottle behind her and slamming it down in front of him. "Whiskey, that's… close," he muttered, before resting his face on the counter. "You look like you've had a long day, Arcade. Anything I can do for you? Back rub? Foot massage? Warm bath? Happy ending?" Veronica suggested. Arcade looked up, quizzically. "Well, I'd have to find someone for the last one, y'know, considering," she amended. Arcade gingerly took the drink, tilting the neck towards his lips. "So, where's everyone's favorite courier today?" he asked. "Out with the ex," she said, resuming her wiping.

Arcade groaned internally. Seeing New Vegas grow to be independent was one of his most ambitious dreams, and that it was due to someone who he considered to be a friend was just icing on the cake. Despite Vega's complete lack of formal education, the man had a plethora of "street smarts" and was a quick study into the world of "realpolitik" as he became more involved in the Mojave War. However, Arcade was quick to learn that the Courier was also an easily distracted, drunken, hedonistic, "lady-killing," debaucher, when left to his own devices. Maybe it was because they shared so many similarities were what drew him and Cass together for a little after the war. He still remembered the day he rode the elevator to the penthouse only to be greeted by a collection of scattered, smashed alcohol bottles, as well as the discarded clothing of the room's two occupants just outside the door. But those days were long over, Arcade thought.

"Still trying to win her back?" Arcade said, trying to figure out the year of the whiskey. "Maybe it doesn't have as much to do with her as it does with life in general," said Veronica, before hocking a loogie into a glass to "further sanitize it." "Life? I thought his entire life goal was to get a lifetime supply of alcohol and a harem?" asked Arcade, gently pushing his whiskey bottle away from him. "Yeah, well, think about it, if you got everything you ever wanted, what are you going to look forward to?" continued Veronica, putting the glass somewhere with the other "clean" ones. "Besides, the man is an adventurer at heart, so he can't be expected to be cooped up in a shit-hole like this?" she finished, a bit angrier then expected. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I know how you feel, believe me, I do, but you can't blame Lars for wanting to keep you safe and happy," Gannon said, gently. Veronica sighed. "I know… it's just… sometimes the longer you stay somewhere, the less you learn to love it. I mean, I think I loved Vegas the most out of the entire group, I think. The lights, the people, the air, the freedom, the women dancing outside of Gomorrah, the… well, the fact that it didn't remind me about the Brotherhood," she concluded it with a small note of sadness. Arcade smiled a little. "Yeah, even Lucifer grew tired of paradise, eventually. Or something, I never really got into Milton. Point is, there's nothing wrong with deciding whatever you want to do with yourself. If it means Lars is going to have to fix his own damn equipment every now and then, then is that really so bad?" Veronica looked back at the counter. "Yeah, but, where do you think I should go?" she sulked, resignation hanging in her tone. Arcade thought for a brief moment, and then had an idea. "I know! I've been meaning to head down to some Follower camps inside the NCR, show them some of the things I learned from taking apart some of that Big MT material I found. I've thought about saving up for some bodyguards, but…" "But, you thought you could mooch of one of your "friends" on the cheap, letting a woman do all the heavy lifting while you hang back and eat plums, or whatever," accused Veronica. Arcade started to stutter before Veronica busted up laughing. "I'm just messing with you, I'd be more then happy to help!" she said cheerfully.

It was then that the elevator rang again, opening to reveal the smoothest, suavest, sexiest sonuvagun in the city, at least in the man's personal, objective opinion. "Honies and gents, the King… has arrived," he stated, allowing his grandness to speak for himself. He glanced around. Nobody around except that doctor fella and little miss "hard-to-get." The King groaned. At least Vega knew how to throw a party, like the one in which he bestowed on him the title of "New Vegas Diplomat-at-Large," to those NCR squares. "So, where is the "big boss man" at the moment?" he asked, seating himself next to the doctor. "Oh, he's out, at the moment, something about taking a walk, or something," Veronica said. "By the way, you think you and Yes-man can hold down the fort while Arcade and I run an errand in California?" she added, sweetly. The King was stunned, though not for long. "Aw, hell, babe, for you, I'd hold down the whole West Coast," he boasted, winking at her. Veronica had given up long ago deciding whether or not the King was stubborn or just thick. If he weren't such a gifted diplomat, she wouldn't have understood why Lars gave him the time of day. "Thanks a ton, Mr. King-man-sir. We aren't going to leave until morning, though, so why not a drink to celebrate?" she proposed. "Why, that sounds like a mighty fine idea, little lady. Be a dear, and break out the beer," the King decreed, leaning back on his stool. Veronica brought down two glasses for herself and Arcade, but for some reason, was very particular about which glass was the King's…

At Shi-town

Madame Zhang sat in the grand chamber of the Steel Palace, meditating. The day to day of running the operation took its toll on her mind and body. It was one thing to win a fight; it was another to actively avoid that which you wanted the most. Recently, a few practice spars sent some of her less… "hardy" men to the infirmary. Not feeling even remotely placated, she had sealed herself in her chamber, demanding not to be disturbed unless it was a matter of the utmost importance. That was the precisely what she had on her mind when she heard the heavy doors creep open, and it was what held her tongue. Her assistant, a seemingly meek young woman named Ziyi, whom she had known practically all her life, entered the room, before suddenly bowing deeply and reverently. "Your eminence, Master Jiasheng has just established contact with the eastern barbarians. He wishes to update you on the situation," Ziyi proclaimed, her eyes never leaving the floorboards. Zhang nodded. "Very well, I would wish to hear of his news," commanding her assistant to place down a cubed device. The device glowed, and a misty, holographic miniature image of Jiasheng's head appeared.

"Madame Zhang. The negotiations with "Caesar's Legion" are blossoming beyond my wildest expectations," Jiasheng said, his typical humility giving way to a rare outburst of pride. "Truly? I did not see the Legate Lanius as someone who was so malleable," Zhang replied. "In truth, my master, I did not have to deal with the Legate. A secondary commander, Vulpes Inculta, is proving to be just the missing piece we may need before we can proceed with the operation," Jiasheng continued. Though she outwardly showed no signs of excitement, inside, Zhang was as giddy as a toddler finding a jar full of sweets. All these years of planning, all the setbacks, the near-failures, and the close calls, and the game was getting so close to being realized. "Well done, Commander Feng, I am very pleased with your progress. Where are you now?" she asked. "I am with a handful of Inculta's most trusted men. When the time comes, they could prove to be valuable allies in the coming campaign," Feng stated. "I do not relish the idea of working with such a pack of low-life degenerates," she spoke, coolly but sharply. "Understood, mistress, though from what I've gathered from Inculta, he seems… different," said Jiasheng, almost apologetically.

"No matter, we still have much work to do. I have business to attend to in this country. If anything develops, contact me as soon as possible," she commanded. Jiasheng bowed his head, and the transmitter went dead. As the moments paced, a small smile crept on Zhang's face. "Ziyi, do I have any meetings for tonight?" Ziyi thought for a moment. "Well, mistress, the Wright family wishes to speak with you this evening, and your next appointment in the morning is with Senator Speckreed…" "Cancel them!" she ordered. "Your eminence?" Ziyi balked. "Was I misheard?" Zhang said, shooting a glare down at her hapless assistant, who in turn averted her eyes from her master's general direction. "… Do not fear, I know you did not intend any disrespect. It's just that I feel the need to celebrate our plan finally coming together! After all our hard work, we can assuredly treat ourselves to a night of entertainment, don't you agree?" she asked. "Yes mistress," said Ziyi, flatly, and still looking at the floorboards. It was then that she heard her master rise from her seat, walk over to her, and felt a hand on her face, pushing her gaze upwards. "If anyone has served me well these past few years, it is you, Ziyi. I know we do not spend as much time together as we did before the Glorious Cause, but I hope you understand that I still regard you as a dear friend," she said, smiling down at her.

Ziyi managed to make eye contact. Mistress, if only you knew, she thought to herself. If you did, would you still feel the same way? "How does the Grand Ring sound? I hear the cards for tonight promise to be exceptionally entertaining," Zhang proposed. Ziyi could only nod. "Excellent! I will draw myself a bath, and you shall pick out something… presentable for the night! See you in an hour!" Zhang called out as she left. Ziyi found herself blushing as she left. She couldn't remember the last time her old friend acted like this. She quickly composed herself, then readied herself for a night on the town with her oldest friend.

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

The Shi: Based in San Francisco, the Shi were a collective of researchers and scientists who descended from a crashed Chinese nuclear submarine. Based inside Chinatown, the Shi had been locked in a turf war with a cult known as the Hubologists. Initially, and thanks to an outside ally known only as the "Chosen One," the Shi initially managed to wrest control of the city from the cult. Nearly two decades later, however, and the Hubologists, their membership soaring after a comeback in popularity, returned. Unexpectedly, the Shi and the Hubologists seemed to be reaching a much sought after peace after their decades long feud. With the arrival of the mysterious Feng Jiasheng, however, followed an escalation which resulted in the complete and total ousting of the cult from the San Francisco area. The Shi were then promptly reorganized into a criminal organization, and are the undisputed leaders of the newly named "Shi-town."

**Seems as good a place as any to leave off. Any thoughts, critiques, or questions? Please let me know!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Etiquette

At the Grand Ring

Shi-town, the town formerly known as San Francisco, was, by NCR standards, a bustling metropolis. Numbering in just under one hundred thousand citizens, Shi-town was a prosperous, yet seedy place. After the Shi drove the Hubologists from their holdings, the Shi promptly established a number of new enterprises throughout the city. Banks, storage houses, restaurants, a silver refinery, brothels, porn theatres, and, Madame Zhang's personal favorite, the Grand Ring. Based off one of the western piers, one of the loading docks had been transformed into a giant fighting pit. It housed everything, from beast fights to martial arts tournaments to executions to a hodge-podge of all three. To Zhang, it was a place of ambition, desperation, hope, despair, redemption, and skill. Right now, however, the last of those was severely lacking.

What had promised to be an entertaining exhibition of skill between two longtime hometown rival fighters had devolved into what could only be described as a "mud-slinging" match. Any pretense of artistry and skill these two fighters had promised had gone unfulfilled as the fight dragged on. The rest of the onlookers hooted and hollered in glee at the display, but Zhang, who was seated on a balcony next to Ziyi with her attendants and bodyguards, was seething. "Mistress, it is only just the preliminary rounds, I would hope that…" Ziyi began to start. "This… is the greatest stage of its kind in this era. This is where Jiasheng taught these miserable wastelanders what the true form of combat is. These… amateurs… have no business sharing this ring with his memory," Zhang stated, still transfixed by the travesty unfolding before her. Eventually, one of the fighters slipped on the dirt floor, while the referee declared it a down, and ended the match. Zhang exhaled, pouring herself another cup of tea. "Jiasheng would have murdered both of those fools if he had been here. THAT would have been quality entertainment," she said before taking a deep sip. "What is the next match?" she demanded as she finished. Ziyi hastily flipped through the brochure. "Uhmmm… a beast fight, between a deathclaw and… a nightkin," she read. Zhang groaned.

Beast fights were all the same. No strategy, no art, no finesse, just wild, reckless instinct driving two creatures to hit each other until one fell over for good. Zhang gave it about five minutes, either until the fight ended or she fell asleep. Some people here enjoyed seeing mutants tear each other apart. Idiots. A fight where the fighters do not improve or learn anything was useless. The arena was cleared of workers, the blood raked under the dirt, and the audience heard the next two combatants enter their cells. The lights above focused on the two storage unit entrances where both fighters would make their exits. One opened up to reveal a giant, horned lizard, chomping at the bit at the prospect of another meal. The other opened to show a lone nightkin, sitting with an aura of resignation around it. Zhang scoffed. Nightkin were prone to bouts of schizophrenia, so naturally this one had to get depressed before it was supposed to fight to the death. An attendant behind it jabbed the grey mutant with a cattle prod, and after a few seconds, the beast reluctantly left its cell.

The deathclaw, eager to begin tearing into the meal before it, fought back against the leash tethering it to its handlers. The bell was rung, and the tether disconnected itself from the collar. The deathclaw charged its prey with reckless abandon, raising its claw to strike its opponent down. What no one expected, however, was the nightkin to grab onto the wrist of its opponent, torque its waist, and flip the deathclaw over him. The audience was stunned, but Zhang got on her feet, a smile on her face for the first time this night. The deathclaw crawled back up, looked over the nightkin, and then charged it again, jaws forward, only to be halted and stalled back by a sharp uppercut against its chin. The nightkin bared its forearms towards the beast, showcasing what many people who had fought super mutants never saw; a proper fighting pose.

As the fight went on, the nightkin demonstrated a particular aptitude for ingenuity. He dove in towards the deathclaw to compensate for his lack of reach, he could counter any time the deathclaw launched a heavy strike against him, culminating in a submission hold locked around the deathclaws neck. The beast struggled to escape the hold. To the animal's credit the deathclaw didn't fall into the same traps twice, but the nightkin gave it no room to adapt. A sharp crack echoed throughout the arena, and the deathclaw fell limp to the ground. A cheer went up throughout the arena, but the victor neither seemed to hear or care about the noise.

Zhang was on her feet, applauding the spectacle. "And that, Ziyi, is a proper fight! Now, remind me, nightkin can talk, right?" she asked. Ziyi nodded, and Zhang demanded she be brought a microphone. She climbed on top of the railing of the balcony, and brought the microphone to her mouth. "Ahem… Well fought, beast! An exceptional display in skill and courage! Tell me, do you have a name?" she demanded. The beast did not seem to notice her. "Beast, my name is Madame Zhang! I am the proprietor of this establishment! I control whether or not you ever see the next sunrise! So when I give you an order, you follow it!" she demanded. "Mistress Zhang, please, the nightkin is probably just exhausted, and it's probably best that he…" Ziyi was interrupted by a scowl from her boss. After cowing her assistant, Zhang turned to see the beast finally facing her.

For the first time, Zhang noticed some markings on the chest of the nightkin. No, she thought, not just markings. Letters. D-O-G. Zhang smiled before speaking back into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to announce your new Beast Champion… Dog!" The crowd erupted into a roar, one that the beast inside did not hear. _So hungry_, the voice inside thought._ Can I please eat_, it begged. The nightkin looked over at the fallen creature before it._ Yes, Dog. Eat to your hearts content. I do not know when the next meal will be, but at least here, we are safe…_

Deep in Eastern New Mexico

_ Hoover Dam was on fire. All around him, legionaries and Rangers were locked in battle, blood seeping down the sides of the wall. Crucifixes and fire made up the landscape around the Colorado River, and the wails of the dead and dying were nearly unbearable. He stood at the center of the Dam, all foes before him had fallen. The Bear, at long last, was dead. _

_ So who was it that stood before him, now? There he was, wearing that duster with "21" emblazoned on the back. Behind him stood the army of steel; men and machines, on the ground and in the air. He never forgot that face. Unshaven, hooked nose, thick brows, and eyes that burned with an intensity of an inferno. Grabbing his blade, he charged the man. Machines would not save him; this was a fight of wills! Before he realized what had happened, the man had already defeated him. An explosion erupted from his path. As he hurtled off the dam, the water below transformed into a burning lake. Just before impact, he saw Malpais reach from the blaze towards him, hate radiating…_

Lanius woke with a startle. The wounds from the previous melee were beginning to heal. As expected, the invaders had anticipated a weakened legion. However, Lanius and Inculta had spent their time after their defeat consolidating their territory, not licking their wounds. These raiders would best learn that any other approach against Legion territory would end just as poorly as this attempt did. His centurions were busy divvying up the survivors. The leaders would be executed, the "fighters" would be enslaved, and the defiant would be made into examples.

Reaching next to his nightstand, he picked up a draught of bitter drink, ingesting the flasks entire contents. Throwing the flask to the ground, he demanded that his servants attend him. The weak, broken wretches nervously applied his armor, taking special care not to disturb any of the wounds that he had acquired the day before. Upon placing his mask on his face, Lanius promptly exited his tent, causing the Praetorians standing guard to stand at attention. "Hail, Lanius," they barked. Lanius did not acknowledge this as he surveyed the camp. Much like wherever the Legion marched, the usual activities resumed. Drilling, crafting, sparing, whatever it took to keep the Legion at the ready.

A centurion named Felix approached him as he finished up. "Legate Lanius, we have routed the barbarians. After interrogating their leader, they claim that the rest of the host is stationed at Albuquerque. Shall I command a contingent to intercept any messengers?" Lanius looked at the centurion. "How reliable do you think his information is?" he asked. "I believe we located his daughter amongst the fighters, and we promised to return her unharmed if he cooperates," Felix explained. "And you intend to keep this promise?" Lanius asked. "Hardly. The man was a pretender who thought he could challenge the Legion. He will be executed for his impudence, though his daughter will decide her own fate, depending on her cooperation," he replied. Lanius simply nodded, then marched off.

The war chief, a raider named Skull-thrash, was under no circumstances a tactical or strategic genius. Like most raiders, his thought himself clever by being able to attack defenseless settlements and caravans without so much as a scratch. Since word had spread about the defeat of the Legion at Hoover Dam, Skull-thrash and many of his ilk thought they could challenge him for their territory. At this point, the highways out of Colorado and New Mexico were filled with the crucified bodies of those who thought they could do what Skull-thrash had just failed to accomplish.

Still, some things about this particular skirmish disturbed Lanius. For starters, resistance from super mutants met the initial attack by the legionaries. He had heard rumors about potential alliances between humans and super mutants, but this was the first time he had ever seen such a partnership personally. After the initial wave was decimated, Lanius had to get involved immediately. The Legions human wave tactics had served them well before the Mojave campaign, but now, they could not afford casualties. Lanius had fought off the mutant berserkers as the rest of the legion poured in and dealt with the other combatants. When a centurion located and forced Skull-thrash to surrender, the rest of the "army" was routed.

"Legate Lanius, hail," a voice behind him called. Lanius turned to see another centurion, this one named Lucas. "Legate Lanius, I've received a request from the daughter of the profligate leader. She requests an audience with you." Lanius snorted. "Then she must be as intelligent as her father, she should know what the Legion means for a woman. Put her to work or silence her," Lanius said as he continued to inspect the camp. "I was going to, sir, but, well…" Lucas hesitated continuing. Despite himself, Lanius's curiosity was piqued. "Why haven't you already punished her?" he barked. "Well, I sent two of my men in to show her the meaning of humility. She… she killed them," Lucas said, unsure how to properly explain it. Lanius was surprised. "Did your men not disarm her?" he asked. "Yes, Legate, thoroughly. We don't know how she killed them, and we don't want to panic the rest of the men," he confessed.

Shoving his way past the hapless centurion, Lanius made his way towards the prisoners' tents. Looking around him, he saw a smattering of broken, whimpering individuals. From this stock, I will have to rebuild the Legion, Lanius thought to himself. Though he heard of the whispers back at Flagstaff about the supposed meaninglessness of his eastern campaigns, Lanius was desperate to replenish the depleted manpower that the Hoover Dam had cost his army.

He eventually came across a tent; it's covers drawn in despite it being mid-day. He entered the tent, and immediately his foot connected with the body of one of his Legionaries. Though his eyes struggled to adjust to the light, he saw the other body a few feet away. Finally, he looked forward, and saw the wraith-like silhouette of a woman standing in the back of the tent. "Profligate, tell me why you killed these men," he demanded. "The same reason you would. Because they were weak," the voice answered, as quiet as a whisper, but carrying the authority of a god. Lanius looked closer at the bodies. No blood, no marks, they had evidently just died. "How did you kill these people?" he demanded to know. "Differently then you are used to, but every bit as effectively," she answered, her tone unmoving. Lanius was in no mood for games. He reached for his machete. However this witch killed the others, he could handle it. "You seem brave, Legate, for someone who has had nightmares ever since Nevada," the woman spoke.

Lanius had told no one. There was no way this woman could have known. It had to be a lucky guess. He'd rip her tongue out before throwing her body to the dogs. "Dear Lanius, I may have no steel soldiers, but attacking me is every bit as foolhardy as attacking that courier at the dam," she said, this time with but a hint of mockery in her voice. "Who are you, witch, to speak so freely against the Legion," Lanius commanded. A thin raspy chuckle emitted from the woman. "And now you finally ask the question, Lanius. Though that is not your true name, is it?" the woman stated. Stepping forward, a beam of light from the tent managed to illuminate her eyes. They were completely white, with no pupils. "I am here to help you fulfill your true destiny, Son of Caesar."

Along the Long 15

The Brahmin was loaded with the barest essentials. Ammunition, stimpacks, water, alcohol, and coffee. The essentials of wasteland life. As the crew gathered around the campfire, they started to brew a pot. Raul and Lily volunteered to stand guard until midnight, then Boone and Cass would take over until morning. They were deep in NCR territory, but only the foolish took it as an invitation to drop their caution. Every now and then there would be stories of highwaymen and bandits who attacked the isolated caravans, either extracting a toll or wiping them out to the last man. Cassidy Caravans had earned a reputation for being extremely costly to take in a fight, as the crew was renowned across the NCR for its ability to outshoot, outfight, and outmaneuver the best laid ambushes. Cass once boasted while drunk that the New Reno crime families had to pay _them_ protection money, and considering how well Vega knew his friends, that was a likely circumstance.

While Boone napped, Lars and Cass drank their coffee in silence. Usually, they had chatted with the other members of the squad, but they did their best not to talk directly with each other. Ever since they had left the Mojave, Cass had wondered why she had invited her… friend along with the delivery, and Vega had wondered why he had accepted. Though New Vegas was boring as hell, he still had work to do. Establishing trade routes through Zion Canyon, opening up relationships with settlements like Jacobstown and Nellis, looting the ever-loving hell out of the Sierra Madre and the Big MT, desegregating Westside from Freeside, keeping the Followers of the Apocalypse from falling apart, keeping the Brotherhood of Steel in line, keeping the NCR happy enough to still want to trade and gamble, the list was endless. Sure, Yes-man was well suited to handle those tasks, and he could be much more enthusiastic about it, but something didn't feel right about just up and leaving the place.

Cass had other thoughts. Though business was good, and the NCR and New Vegas were competing heatedly for her services, and she was working with people she trusted and even, hell, loved, something felt off. After seeing what Lars was able to accomplish in a few months, after being shot in the damn head, she began to wonder about her own ambitions. What was she going for, anyway? Do I make back all the money I lost from the previous attacks, pay off those bar tabs, then retire by that lake near Redding and spend the rest of my days raising a kid, she asked herself. Nah, she told herself, she always knew that one-day, she'd probably just pass out drunk and never wake up. The Cassidy name would be sold off to whoever beat her ass at poker last, and her body would join her old man in the unmarked wastes. Wasn't exactly romantic, she knew, but neither was she. For years, she had accepted this outcome, so why was she starting to doubt it now?

"I didn't mean it," Lars broke the silence. Cass looked up from her cup. "Hm?" "That night at the Lucky 38, when I told you I knew better then the NCR when it came to running Vegas, I was lying. Truth is, I had no fucking idea what I was doing in the first place," Lars admitted as he gripped his cup. "I was just so damn happy that I finally won against all odds. I know I've ranted a bit about how I hate bureaucrats, slavers, and know-it-alls. But I have no idea what the hell I was trying to accomplish. My plan started out as "Fuck Benny," then graduated to "Fuck House" then culminated in "Fuck the Legion, but at least leave some money on the NCR's night stand." That was my plan, and now I'm stuck with a multi-billion cap pain in the ass," he vented.

Cass just looked at him, then started to chuckle. "What's so funny?" Lars asked. "You, you mopey-ass piece of shit! "Oh, woe is me, I have an entire city and a huge chunk of Nevada all to myself, what am I going to do!" You realize how many people, within ten square fuckin' miles of you worry about making it through the next day? Most people spend their entire lives trampled on, and now that you've finally broken out of that, you just want to pack up and jerk around with me for a few months? I thought I was offering you a break, not an escape plan! No wonder we broke up…" she spat. Lars laughed bitterly a bit. "And now I remember why you're such a turn on!" heckled Lars, sarcasm dripping with each syllable. "If I still wanted deal with your shit, I wouldn't have had Yes-man throw you out of the penthouse!" "And if you were still half the fighter you used to be, you wouldn't have needed your lackey to do it!" Cass yelled, pouring the contents of her cup on the flame. Tossing his own cup aside, Lars stood up too. "If you think I've been sitting on my ass these past few months, you're going to be in for a big surprise," the courier said as he cracked his neck. "Please try. And if you think I'm just going to lie back and take it like that Weintraub chick, you've got another thing coming," said Cass as she cracked her knuckles. A few yards away, Boone shifted in his bag, just wishing that the two lovebirds would just find a nice rock for privacy and just get it over with.

"Boss, Boss, look sharp!" cried Raul as he made his way back to the camp. "We're in the middle of something, Tejada, make it quick," said Cass as she sized Perez up. "That town up ahead, Parkerton, was just cleared out by some Van Graff heavies! Lily saw them blow away the sheriff, and they're setting up an ambush point around the town!" Raul panted. Cass and Lars looked at each other. "This seems pretty ballsy. You think they're still pissed you wasted Cutting?" asked Lars. Cass scoffed. "Like it's my fault he was too slow in a fight he started," said Cass dismissively. She went over to the Brahmin and pulled off her shotgun. "You want to go around, or bust through," she asked Lars. He thought a moment, and then turned to Raul. "Where's Lily?" he asked. "She agreed to flank them through the town, and will hold fire until the shooting starts," Raul explained. "Good thinking. Alright guy's, it's time to teach these thugs some manners," Lars said, cocking his holorifle. "Boone, you and I hang back and provide cover fire for Cass and Raul. When they get in the town, we advance. Lily should destabilize their attempts to coordinate a counterattack long enough to get us in. We'll fight them house to house if it comes to it," he finished. The crew nodded in agreement, then prepared to ambush the ambushers. As they left, Lars felt a hand on his shoulder. "And now I remember why you're such a turn on," giggled Cass.

Three hundred yards away.

Patience had its benefits, Bobby Ogden had learned through the years. After being kicked out of the NCR military for a little "rough-housing," he found himself an exciting new career as a bounty hunter. A few dirty jobs for the Bishops latter, and he was soon approached by Jarrod Van Graff to be his little bands primary sniper. A few kills later, and he found himself looking at the position of lieutenant within the group. All because he had learned how to be patient and not blow the perfect set up. Here he was, out of sight, on a hilltop, and leading the crosshairs on that Cassidy bitch juuuussst right. He was currently thinking about his escape route after taking the shot, though. Hopefully, the shock would distract that First Recon son of a bitch long enough to make a getaway. Although, he thought, maybe he could take him out first, then the redhead. No way, he thought, the courier's weapon had a scope, and he had to be at least as good a shot as that beret-wearing bastard. Maybe he could take a shot at him? No way, he told himself, this guy got famous for surviving a double tap. Trying the same trick twice'll just piss him off. Besides, no one's paying him extra for ambition.

A slight breeze picked up, and Ogden had to pause to make some adjustments. Laser weaponry didn't have to factor in things like wind when firing, but in his experience, upkeep was a bitch. The target group below may have had mostly low-tech weaponry, but at least a regular old rifle didn't break for the stupidest reasons. OK, adjustments made, sights lined up, finger on the trigger. Guessing I'll just have to hoof it after pulling the trigger, he told himself. His index finger tickled the trigger. He was in the Zen. Then the radio went off. "Bobby, you got the bead on Cassidy?" the radio blared in his ear. Bobby winced. "I'm a little busy, Gonzo, I'll call you back after the jobs done," he said, annoyed. Weird, Gonzo was usually smart enough _not _to call him during a job. He shrugged, figuring he'd just chew him out later. "Jarrod called, there's been a change in plans. Get back to the rendezvous point, he's got new orders." Bobby scoffed. New orders? The job ended when that Cassidy bitch hit the ground bleeding. "Gonzo, if this is another practical joke, I will literally sell your organs in Reno," he snarled. As he stood up, he glared at the posse as they prepared to organize a charge against the rest of the guys. If this goes south, Jarrod, none of this was my fault, Bobby thought to himself.

The shack was about a half mile back. As Bobby stewed on the return trip, he brought the radio up again. "So, what the hell does the boss want, now?" he asked over the radio. At first, there was only static, then a strange type of interference. It sounded like some kind of crunching. "Mmmm…mmmm…oh…. You still coming?" the voice asked, mouth full. Now Bobby was really pissed. "Oh, I really hope you aren't going to miss your liver," he growled. "Don't worry, I won't," Gonzo said, unconcerned. Grabbing his bowie knife, Bobby was now especially determined to, at the very least, beat that bastard into the ground. As he got to the shack, he realized something was off. Why was he the only person here? Where the hell was Gonzo, or anyone else for that matter? "Gonzo, jokes over, what's up?" he asked over the radio. Nothing, just more of that damn crunching noise. This time, there was an echo effect as well. "Gonzo!" he screamed. "Huh… oh right… I'm behind the shack." Bobby was sick of getting the run-around by now, so he stormed behind the shack eager to rip into his obnoxious co-worker. Instead, he has greeted by one of the most horrific things his eyes had ever witnessed.

A huge, clocked figure was hunched over something, its back turned to him. "What the… what the fuck?!" Ogden yelled. Instantly, the figure hurled something at Bobby, the object nailing him square in the chest. Having the wind knocked out of him, he felt something break inside his chest. Sprawled out on the ground, Bobby craned his neck up to get another look at the figure. It looked like a giant burlap sack was slowly rising off the ground. As Bobby tried to pull whatever landed on him off, he felt something sticky. Pulling his hand back, he realized that whatever was on him, was _bleeding_. Looking at the object, he saw that he was underneath a disembodied, half-chewed, torso. Wearing combat armor. That looked awfully familiar.

A radio sparked to life next to the giant burlap sack. "Gonzo, Cassidy has been sighted approaching the town! What the hell is Ogden doing?!" Jarrod screamed over the airway. A sharp, elongated claw materialized from the cloak, and gingerly pressed a button on the radio. "Sorry, Boss, I have no idea what happened. I'll take care of it immediately," the figure stated. That…thing…sounded exactly like Gonzo. But, if that was Gonzo…what the hell was on his chest? Bobby's mind went everywhere, and went nowhere. When the figure sauntered up to him, it knocked aside the leftovers it was working on, and brought the man to its eye level, about five feet off the ground. "Hey, sorry about the deception, but what can I say, it sure beats chasing you humans down for food," the figure spoke, its voice gradually shifting from Gonzo's jovial tone towards something more… inhuman. As Bobby looked under the figures hood, he saw the salivating, bloody fangs that killed Gonzo. There was nothing left for him to do but scream as the jaws opened, welcoming him to eternity.

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Travel hazards of the NCR: Despite constant and steady supervision by the formidable NCR military, roads to and from cities can be a severe risk to any unwary traveler. Although the NCR and Brotherhood have waged many successful campaigns against local raiders, several small pockets of resistance can be found along major highways, ready to pounce on unwary travelers. Some say that these highwaymen are funded and supported by the criminal element based around New Reno and Shi-town, but these rumors have yet to be confirmed. Also, creatures such as Radscorpians, Deathclaws, and fire ants are known to actively hunt unwary travelers. If one must find themselves in the wastes, it is critical that you never go out alone.

**If you've played Fallout 2, you should have some idea towards what that last thing was about. If you haven't, well, I'll explain later…**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Unknown Unknowns

A few miles west of Parkerton, after the firefight.

Jarrod took a moment to catch his breath. As he looked behind him, he saw his nine surviving men behind him. A four-to-fucking-one margin, and they still got their asses kicked! It all started when one of his men took a bullet in his head, forcing his men to the outside of the town, taking cover behind fences, houses, and burnt out cars. They were unable to pinpoint where that bastard was shooting from, all while being whittled down, man-by-man. It didn't take long until word got out that a woman and a ghoul were spotted on the other end of town, but when he sent out men to intercept them, they were cut down in front of him. Literally. After having half his men killed before even sighting their damn targets, Jarrod called an immediate retreat just before sunrise, evacuating from the town before any more of his men were killed.

This was embarrassing! They had them outmanned, outgunned, and thanks to his "alleged" sniper, outmaneuvered! The moment he got his hands on Gonzo and Ogden, they were dead! "Glover! Report!" He hollered back. A portly man in ill-fitting combat armor came to the front. "Boss?" he asked, wheezing after sprinting for so long. "Get Gonzo on the line! Half my men died because he fucked up, and I want to make it abundantly clear that any excuse, short of meeting the Devil himself, is not going to save him from joining them!" he growled. Glover nodded hurriedly, bringing the radio speaker to his lips. "Gonzo, report. What is your status! … Nothing sir," he said, apologetically. "I could hear!" spat Jarrod. In a world where success was measured in the bodies you left behind, a disaster like this could put the reputation of his group, and himself, in serious jeopardy. If the families back at New Reno ever got wind of this debacle… "Try again!" he yelled.

After a few minutes wrestling with the frequency, a voice came back on the radio. "Mmmm…mmmmm*burp*what's this? Oh, right… you guy's are still calling?" Gonzo! "You… piece of shit, Gonzo! Who fucked up, you or Ogden?" he screamed in the radio. "Who? Oh, yeah, the other guy. Him, I guess," the voice replied, unconcerned. "Eight of my guys are dead, because either you couldn't find them, or because Ogden choked! Tell me, which do you think is much more likely?" Jarrod yelled. "Wait, you guys got your ass's kicked by some other guys you outnumbered? Maybe you just suck. Ever thought of that?" Gonzo responded. The entire group was dead silent. Gonzo never talked shit, especially not when talking to Jarrod. "I'm… sorry, Gonzo, I think I'm getting some interference," Jarrod said, through gritted teeth. "Alright, then how's this? You are a bad boss, and I hate you. I hope you get intimate with a Radscorpion, and, uh, if you have a sister, I should be doing her. How does that sound?" he said. Jarrod immediately turned around to his men "Glover, take four guys, get to Gonzo, and bring me his head on a FUCKING PLATTER!" he screamed, rage boiling over. "Five guys? But I'm already fu… er, busy," the voice whined over the comm. Smashing his foot on the walkie-talkie, Jarrod pointed the group in the direction of the shack.

As the group separated from the main host, Jarrod immediately went back to the issue at hand. Cassidy had to die, not just because of Jean Baptiste, but because the Van Graff family demanded it. If they were going to demand respect from the rest of the New Reno families, particularly the Wrights and the Bishops, incidents like this simply could not go on unanswered. Cassidy had to die, Gonzo had to pay, and the woman who paid him had to pay up.

Shi-town

It was early morning as the sun rose over Shi-town. The Grand Ring had just wrapped up its closing ceremonies, and the spectators were filing out. Zhang, followed by Ziyi and a few bodyguards and attendants, made their way through the city, ahead of the masses. As they walked through, they watched as the neon signs deactivated once the morning light peaked over the horizon. As they headed back to the Steel Palace, Ziyi suggested that they walk along the waterfront on the way back. Zhang, in no hurry to return home so soon, was largely indifferent to her friend's request, yet she acquiesced without any resistance.

Ziyi looked around the city. Despite looking nothing like home, or maybe because of it, she loved the place. After kicking the Hubologists out into the wasteland, the new Shi leadership had worked very hard to "revitalize" the city. The cults former territory was refurbished into making other institutions that the city would need. It was known throughout the NCR as the "New New Reno." The city's shady reputation had put some suspicion on its new owners, but at the same time, it made them extremely wealthy. Everyone in Shi-town remembered to respect Madame Zhang, Master Feng, and Lady Ziyi when they were amongst the town. Feng Jiasheng earned the city's respect by annihilating the crime families that dared set up shop in the city shortly after he arrived. After "reforming" the Shi, from a loose collection of researchers and scientists, to a force to be reckoned with, he paved the way for the enigmatic Madame Zhang to arrive, with her greater ambitions in tow.

As they made their way back, Ziyi stole glances at the Red-light district. "Degenerates," Zhang muttered, not even looking at the direction of the street. The only thing that allowed the district to stay open while Zhang was in power was the revenue it could generate. Jiasheng, to his credit, chased out the pimps. Not out of the kindness of his heart, but because in doing so, he allowed the women (and men) to fix their own prices, and in turn, could charge more for taxes, without having to deal with a sleazy middleman. As for protection, well, anyone who had seen Jiasheng in action would understand why the Red light district never had an "incident."

Later, they walked through China-town. Zhang curled her lip, not necessarily out of disgust, more like… irritation. An imitation, no matter how lovingly crafted, could never be anything more then an imitation. Not that her homeland was in any condition to deserve nostalgia, but Zhang had, what the Americans were fond of calling, "Old World Blues." She had spent hours of her sparse free-time pouring over old books and recordings of what her country used to be. Here, however, the meat being cooked tended to be radiated, the instruments tended to be made out of scrap, and the few parades that were held during New Year's were a far cry from the spectacles that had existed in eras past. _If it is any small comfort,_ Zhang told himself,_ it is that we at least took our enemies down with us._

As they approached the Steel Palace, they saw an NCR soldier waiting outside the main entrance. "Madame Zhang, my name is Sgt. Coulder. I'm part of Senator Speckreed's entourage. The senator has me asked to…" he began. Madame Zhang dismissed him with a gesture. "I believe I had made it abundantly clear to the dear Senator that I had business to attend to today. If he would like to reschedule, I would be more then happy to have his aides talk to mine. However, I am tired and want to go to bed," Zhang said, adding in a deliberately fake yawn. The soldier, irritated, began again. "Madame Zhang, with all due respect, I strongly encourage you to make an audience with Mr. Speckreed. It is critical that you work with the NCR on this matter," he stated. "The NCR? If your military couldn't take over a slab of concrete and some casinos in five years, what makes you think that anything they do is "critical," hmm?" Zhang questioned. The soldier, fighting to keep from losing his temper, calmly repeated himself. "Madame Zhang, I must insist, if you continue to show flagrant disregard towards the Senator, we will be forced to…" he stopped. Zhang was starting to smirk.

"Oh, Mr. Soldier Dog, you make me curious. Tell me, what would the NCR do to a harmless entrepreneur like me? How would I be punished? Would they sanction the city? Would they remove me from power and give the position to one of Speckreed's relatives? Would the NCR go off the silver standard before it even started? So please, Mr. Soldier Dog, how would I be punished?" she asked. The soldier slowly turned red. The worst thing about the Shi was how much the NCR had become indebted to them. After fighting wars against the Enclave, Brotherhood, Legion, Khans, raiders, and slavers, the Mojave debacle threatened to collapse the fledgling nation's economy. When the Shi discovered silver mines in Mexico, they purchased the land and sold the silver to the NCR. After the Brotherhood of Steel destroyed the NCR's gold reserves, the silver standard was all that was keeping the economy from tanking outright. "I… I'll tell him to reschedule," he sighed. As he turned to leave, Zhang told him to stop. "Wait," she called out. He turned, just in time to see her flip a coin in his direction. It was a silver NCR dollar. "For your trouble," Zhang said, smirking.

As the soldier went back to his master, Zhang turned to Ziyi. "Where is the Wright family delegate staying?" she asked. "Erhm… the Fairmont, your Excellency," said Ziyi. "Send them a bottle of wine with my compliments. I suppose in this country, not pestering your betters ought be rewarded," Zhang stated, bluntly. Stretching, she climbed the steps to her palace. "Ziyi?" she turned to look down at her friend. "Yes, mistress?" Ziyi responded. "I…we should do things like this more often. I'm not saying we can, but maybe, once we've got things taken care of, we could just…" she paused. Affection of any kind was never something that came naturally to her, Ziyi had come to understand. She freely regarded most people as nuisances, and wasn't one for small talk. Though Ziyi completely understood, it still frustrated her every now and then. All her life, she had difficulty relating to other people. Why couldn't she just try to be normal?

"It's alright, mistress, I understand," said Ziyi. Zhang almost smiled a bit, and then slapped her hands together. "Alright then, it is time to rest. I'll expect to see you first thing in the afternoon, Ziyi," announced Zhang. Ziyi bowed as Zhang and the rest of her bodyguards climbed the stairs. She should really get to bed too, she thought to herself. Then again, it wouldn't be so horrible if she stayed out for a little longer, she thought. She had spent so much time cooped up in the palace, after all, that she hadn't even paid her city friends a visit. She looked around, turned her coat inside out, put her hood up, and crept away towards the city again.

Meanwhile, at Oakland

Natalie had spent a few days on the road since leaving Hanlon's ranch. She had ridden a reasonably intact rail-line down south, before linking up with a caravan, and wound up in the settlement of Oakland. Checking her watch, she breathed a sigh of relief. Just in time. This was the most important day for the Rangers since the Ranger Unification Treaty of 2271. The only difference, she told herself, was that this could gut us. As she made her way down the street, she looked over the town. Oakland had basically become where Shi-town would dump its undesirables. The town was practically overflowing with the gangsters, dealers, pimps, and thugs that the Shi drove out. Good thing she had a badge and a gun.

As she made her way to the theatre, began to pick out a faint rumbling coming from the building. She paused at the door, took a deep breath, and opened them, allowing a cacophony of noise to wash over her. Inside, dozens and dozens of Rangers were howling at each other, squabbling and arguing with one another. To think, the leaders of the most renowned organization in the New California Republic could act like this. Guess the Mojave Campaign put everyone on edge, and now they were just looking to blow off steam.

She scanned for a seat; she noticed a nearly empty row near the back of the theatre. She inched her way towards it, she realized that the lone occupant sitting in the middle did not remove his Stetson and duster. She sat at the end of the row, and craned her neck to look at the podium. Chief Murdock, bless his heart, was pounding the podium with a gavel, demanding order in the impromptu court. "Everyone, please, if you could bring your attention to me… If y'all could listen to me… I'm starting to get a little…" though eventually he just gave up, pulled out his revolver, and shot in the air. The Rangers, how had only just been arguing a moment before, all instinctually reached for their side-arms before realizing what had happened. The other occupant in Nat's row barked out a sharp, raspy chuckle.

"Now listen, I know I ain't exactly the old man, and I know none of us are happy with the leaders up top right now. But I'm here to tell each and every one of you that, as it stands, this is the only opportunity we have to end this issue before the rest of the military gets involved. So here's what we got to deal with; some of our "newer" members are (understandably) upset about the resolution of the Mojave Campaign. I know, but I for one will not stand idly by while the Rangers tear themselves apart over this matter," he began to speak. He was a skinny man, mid thirties, with no facial hair apart from his sideburns. He had been elected Chief shortly after Hanlon announced his retirement, and had spent most of his starting tenure trying to prevent the rest of the military from "hindering Ranger business."

"Oh, to hell with the treaty! I signed up with the NCR so we could protect the Mojave! So what if you can't annex the city, I'm not willing to sit back and let that Vega son-of-a-bitch call the shots! We're Desert Rangers, Mojave born and bred! We belong in Nevada!" A Desert Ranger, a veteran named Floyd Wilson, stood up, directly challenging Murdock's authority. Wilson was one of the most vocal opponents towards the NCR post-Mojave. He was the primary ringleader for the Desert Rangers who wanted to return back to southern Nevada. He stood from his seat, walked up to the podium, and promptly got in Murdock's face. "I still have friends there, and I'm not going to wait for a vote. Anyone willing to split from the losing side, come with me!" he rallied. Several veteran rangers stood to join their proponent.

"Now listen here, Wilson! We fought and bled alongside one another. We are brothers! We cannot afford to split the Rangers; it would cripple the very foundation the organization was founded on! We have an obligation to the Republic-" "No, YOU have an obligation to the Republic! We have an obligation to our homes and families! If the NCR will no longer give us what we need to fight for our cause, then we no longer have to concern ourselves with the NCR!" Wilson shouted him down. The hall erupted in another quarrel, and Natalie held her head in exasperation. In the midst of the arguing, she heard the same raspy chuckle coming from her row. She turned to look at the figure, and she could not believe her eyes.

In an organization as old and esteemed as the NCR Rangers, there were many people who could be referred to as "old men" like Hanlon and other old-timers, but there was only one "Old Man." The longest serving Ranger by at least a century, Ranger Gaunt was a legend among legends. Known throughout the ranks as the "Scarecrow of the North," the ghoul was at least as old as the NCR itself, and had the career to show for it. Apparently, rumor had it that when the children of tribals hostile to the NCR acted out of line, their parents told them Gaunt stories. In all her six years in the Rangers', she had never heard of Gaunt leaving Northern Oregon. She must have stared for too long, because soon, she had gained Gaunt's attention. Turning to her, he methodically limped over to where she sat.

"Heh heh heh, new to these meetings, eh? They've been bitchin' at each other for the last three months," he croaked. It took a second for Natty to find her voice. "Eh, yeah, I thought it would have been a little more… diplomatic?" she uttered. Gaunt laughed derisively. "Diplomacy? What are you, a Ranger or a pencil pusher? And to think, attitudes like that are what cost us the Mojave," he said, snarling as he finished. Nat was stunned by her… associate's attitude. She knew senior members enjoyed ribbing rookies, but that… was uncalled for. Apparently, the look she shot him caused more amusement then concern. "Hmm… then again, you don't seem like someone who had their cherry popped," he assessed. Nat was shocked. "Ex…excuse me?!" she balked. "Seen combat, I mean. Get your mind out of the gutter, woman," he explained, annoyed. "It wasn't my call to make! I was told to stay put, it wasn't my fault I was FORCED to stay away from Vegas!" she yelled, though no one but the ghoul could hear her over their own furor.

Gaunt snickered. "That's the problem with you rookie types. So eager to follow orders, it never crosses your minds that maybe your leadership is full of shit? You know why we lost the Mojave?" he asked. Natty looked over the weathered ghoul. "You'll just tell me I'm wrong, regardless," she answered. "Oh, nice to see you know how this works. The answer is simple, and can be boiled down to a single individual," he said as he leaned forward. "You know whom I mean?" Gaunt asked. "Yeah, I think I do. Fuck him, right?" she said, chuckling a bit. Gaunt started to smirk a bit, though how much was just skin decay was up for debate. "Good, I think you finally get it. You're smarter then you look, eh, what was it?" he asked. "Oh, I'm Ranger Natalie Hale," she replied. "Hale? You must've been Tobey's kid sister, then?" he realized. "Yeah. You knew him?" she queried, hopefully. "A bit. For a smoothskin, he was pretty talented," he thought, almost wistfully. Natalie smiled a little. I miss you, big brother.

"Well, I guess it's time to put a bullet in this little quibble. I'll think I'll say a few words on the matter, and then I think maybe I'll head back to Oregon and take potshots at the cannibals. You know they think I'm a demon, just because I look like a corpse and killed half of them. Racists," he bantered, evidently to no one in particular. He slid past Natalie, tipping his hat, then walked to the podium. As he passed through down the hall, the room slowly went silent. He climbed the stage, pulled apart Wilson and Murdock, then went to the stand. "Before I begin, I want to make one thing abundantly clear… I will outlive every single one of you," he began, deadpan and blunt.

The gist of his speech was that everyone was so focused on what was essentially an imaginary border. He reminded them that the Rangers found their purpose when the Old World died, and when they were the only thing protecting the helpless from the predators. If the Desert Rangers were so concerned for the safety of the Mojave, then they should be free to deal with the situation as they saw fit. And if it was unity that the Rangers were worried about, then the least those who stayed behind could do would be to honor and support their decision to leave. For a misanthropic jackass, Gaunt had a big heart, Natty thought to herself.

Gaunt ended the speech by tipping his hat, then walked off the podium. After that, the meeting took a much calmer tone. Inevitably, the Desert Rangers received their wish, and seceded from the NCR, with Wilson gaining command of those who left. All in all, roughly six dozen at the meeting volunteered to join the Desert Rangers, with others likely joining when word spread about the result of the meeting. Nat herself watched silently throughout the whole procedure, seeing as what she feared finally was coming to pass. On the plus side, she thought, since the Rangers shrunk in rank, maybe she could finally be given a decent assignment.

As the Rangers filed out, Nat stayed behind. Chief Murdock was delegating some orders to his entourage, but seemed to be generally relieved the matter was settled. Natalie approached the chief, saluting him when she reached the bottom of the theatre. "Chief Murdock, Ranger Hale reporting for duty," she said as she stood at attention. Murdock wearily looked down at the rookie. "Oh, hey kid, glad you could make it. Didn't turn out the way I hoped, but I hope it works out for the best," Murdock replied. "Permission to speak freely?" Hale asked. Murdock, in no mood to be yelled at again, reluctantly granted it. "Since the Rangers are gone, I was wondering if there are any new duties that have been opened up. I'm sure you can use all the manpower you can spare," she stated, still saluting. Murdock stroked his sideburns for a second, and then came up with an idea. "You know, I think I have just the assignment for you. We've gotten word that a delegate from another nation was recently fired upon shortly after he entered NCR territory. We've learned that he intends to stop by the Hub for a little while, and when he does, the top brass requests that he receives an official NCR escort for the remainder of his time here. Sound interested?" he asked.

Natalie thought it over. On one hand, the man had been shot at not long after he entered NCR territory, as Murdock said, so evidently, someone wanted him dead. On the other hand, she had been begging for this kind of excitement since she joined the Rangers in the first place. "I'll take it," she cheered, enthusiastically. "Great, then I'll need you to head down to the Hub, and wait for Lars Perez to arrive. From that point forward, I need you to stick to him like glue. Understand?" Murdock asked. Natalie was dumbfounded. "Wait… you want me to… to…" but nothing could come out, and before she knew it, she found herself on the road to the Hub.

Primm

"Arcade, get down," Veronica whispered. Arcade complied as they ducked behind a building. Peeking out, they saw Sheriff Meyers chatting up someone wearing power armor, while several others shook down a caravan passing through. "Brotherhood," Veronica growled. Arcade fixed his glasses. "I thought they took over Helios One?" he asked. Veronica nodded. "Since they don't have to worry about the NCR, it looks like they've started to branch out a little more then usual," she said. Arcade grimaced. They had hoped that they could get out of the Nevada without bumping into a patrol. Typically, power armor could be defeated by numbers or, failing that, heavy energy weapons. Between the two of them, a ballistic fist and plasma pistol wasn't going to cut it.

As the Brotherhood paladins confiscated an energy weapon from the trader, one of the caravan guards got in one of the paladins faces. In response, he was knocked to the ground, and had a laser rifle leveled at his head. Veronica bit her lip. Codex or no Codex, would it kill them not to be assholes all the time? One of the other paladins convinced the junior member to back off, and allowed the guard on his feet. Afterwards, Sheriff Meyers evidently raised his hands in defeated exasperation, signaling that it was time for the paladins to head home. The two friends exhaled. "Good, for a second there, I thought we wer…" Veronica started to say. "YEEHAW! HOWDY, PARTNERS! WELCOME TO PRIMM! I'M PRIMM SLIM, AND I'M HERE TO…" "**Fzzt" **Arcade's pistol spat as the Protectron hit the ground with a thud. "Oh my God, you killed Primm Slim!" gasped Veronica. "Thank goodness," muttered Arcade. The paladins, however, had already been alerted by the noise.

"Shit, they heard us! Run!" Veronica screamed. They bolted from their cover, sprinting between buildings as they desperately tried to duck away from the Brotherhood's field of vision. They turned a corner, reaching the entrance of the Vicki and Vance Casino. "In here!" Arcade barked, and grabbed Veronica by the nape of her hood. Looking to see if the coast was clear, they ducked into the casino. "Whew, that was a close one," Veronica laughed. "You're telling me, I'm just glad we got out befo-," Arcade was interrupted when he turned around, and was staring down the barrel of a laser tri-beam rifle. Veronica turned as well, only to be greeted by two other laser rifles being pointed at her. "Well, well, well, Journeyman Scribe Veronica, it's been a while since you've stopped by the bunker," the lead paladin spoke. "Sato, it's been awhile. Still shooting up doctors and waiting for the inevitable?" Veronica spat.

Sato held his weapons position, and then lowered the barrel, ordering his men to do the same. "Veronica, I know we've never seen eye to eye, but we only want to make sure the people don't end up hurting themselves. What if the Legion had gotten a hold of ARCHIMEDES, or the NCR? What would have happened if anyone waltzed into Hidden Valley and made off with whatever they wanted?" Sato explained. "We aren't noble guardians, Sato! Maybe the Brotherhood was necessary long ago, but today? We… You're a bunch of glorified hoarders! You're highwaymen with nicer toys! How is gunning down a field hospital supposed to help anyone?" Veronica yelled, angrily. One of the paladins motioned to bring his weapon to bear on Veronica, but Sato swatted it away. "Listen, Veronica, I know we've done our fair share of rotten stuff, but I didn't hope I could find you so I could kill you, or anyone. Actually, McNamara has been hoping to get in contact with you," Sato said. "Forget it, Sato. I've washed my hands of the Brotherhood. Family or not, I'm done with you. So you can either shoot me, or let me and my friend go, but I'm through listening to you," Veronica finished, spitefully. She closed her eyes, put her hands behind her head, and waited for the lasers to fly. Arcade stepped in to mediate, as he often found himself doing. "Nobody has to die. I would very much like to hear what the Elder has to say," Arcade interjected. "Nothing that concerns you, Remnant," Sato vehemently growled. Arcade bit his lip, kicking himself for not expecting such a reaction.

"Wait a sec, are you asking for my attention, or Vega's?" Veronica asked pointedly, opening an eye. Sato sighed. "Fine, you got me. You're the closest thing we have to an intermediary with the rest of the Mojave, and this is a matter that we believe Vega should be aware of. We have acquired some disturbing images from the Pacific Ocean, and we would like to share them with Perez," Sato explained. "The Pacific? Doesn't that make it an NCR issue?" Veronica asked, bringing her arms down to her sides. "That's the thing, we can't decide on a course of action. Hardin thinks that it should be kept to ourselves while the NCR deals with it, and then tackle the issue if it should come to us. McNamara, however, believes that that whatever's coming is going to involve us, regardless of the intent," Sato explained. "Uhm, excuse me, but the filthy Remnant would very much like to have "whatever" defined, please?" Arcade pleaded. Sato turned to the doctor, and spoke only a single word. "War."

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Followers of the Apocalypse: A humanistic, pacifistic organization by nature, the Followers of the Apocalypse have become a common sight near refugees and the disenfranchised. A frequent critic of the NCR's expansionism, the Followers have made it their lives work to help the helpless, feed the hungry, and teach the masses. Based out in Dayglow, the Followers have maintained a cordial relationship with New Vegas, and their personnel are a common sight around Freeside. Some Followers have suggested joining Lars Perez's new administration, to meet health and education needs in the new nation. Most, however, prefer to keep their organization apolitical, though none hesitate to offer support to the citizenry.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Flagstaff

Jiasheng had spent nearly a week with Inculta, negotiating with the wily jackal. Despite his preconceptions, it was clear that the dog-headed commander was someone worthy of the utmost respect, or at least, caution. Previously, he had come to the conclusion that Caesar's Legion was merely a pack of ambitious and over theatrical raiders, a glorified cult like those Hubologist _báichī. _Vulpes was, at first, hesitant to reveal the machinations of the greater Legion, but Jiasheng was nothing if not persistent. Eventually, Vulpes confided in him that the Legion was starting to stagnate, and would eventually and inevitably decline. Jiasheng reiterated the terms of the contract, causing Vulpes to almost look… hopeful. However, Jiasheng reiterated one single condition; that he meet personally with Legate Lanius.

They had seen the smoke from the city before glimpsing the town itself. The town of Flagstaff had served as the main camp of the Legion, and as the de facto capital city. Caesar's ambition had led him to believe that New Vegas would have been the ideal "Rome" for his new civilization, but history would be as kind to him as it was to Kimball and House. As they walked past the hide-walls of the camp, Jiasheng glanced around the town, observing how daily life played out. Some legionaries trained and sparred with each other, while others "supervised" the ragged thralls as they carried loads that were far too heavy for far too long. Some blacksmiths were working on beating out machetes and spears, while some other craftsmen were tinkering with some rifles. For a declining empire, Jiasheng thought to himself, everything ran like clockwork. In spite of himself, he was almost impressed.

A merchant, his western garb clashing with the neo-Roman aesthetics, noticed Vulpes returning, and hurriedly rushed to meet him. "Well, shit, if it ain't Commander Inculta. I was wondering when you were returning," the old man wheezed. "Cut the pleasantries, Otis, I'm in no mood. You wouldn't happen to know if our dear leader has returned, has he?" Vulpes inquired. The merchant liked the gap in his teeth nervously. "Well, he just returned two days ago, if my noggin's still worth a tick. He's been hold up in City Hall since he returned." Jiasheng noticed his companions face starting to process this information. "Is something wrong," he asked. Vulpes turned to his companion. "The Legate is not one to be a, how do you say, "homebody." If he had returned, he'd usually strut up and down the town to have everyone realize he was back. If this is true, I can't guarantee something isn't wrong," Vulpes explained, his mind still dwelling on what to do.

Jiasheng was still curious about the society he was in. "If it is all the same to you, I am more then patient. You can either confide in your men or approach the Legate yourself, but if you need time to plan out your approach, I understand. Just send for me when you are ready," he expressed. Vulpes cracked a ghost of a smile. "Master Feng, I never took you for a tourist," he half-joked. "Hardly. I'm merely gathering intelligence of my own, just like you, Inculta," Jiasheng answered, and with that, he turned and walked away.

He strolled through the town, continuing to witness the center of the Legion. Jiasheng realized that the Legion was one of the few societies after the end of the world that had effectively fully mobilized for conflict. Unlike many other communities that he had met, on both continents, the Legion was fully dedicated to survival at any expense. Admirable. Here, these people understood duty. Were it not for the sheer size of the NCR military, he estimated that the Legion could have easily overrun the Mojave. Unfortunately for them, their leader decided to abide by that fool Oliver's game, and spent five years in between battles waiting for another opportunity, as opposed to creating one himself. Strong soldiers, weak leadership; a losing combination for any army. How the Legate would act from this point forward would either save or doom the Legion.

As he strolled through the city, he noticed a miserable, heavily pregnant woman stitching legion armor. Jiasheng paused for a moment, before continuing on his way. Brutal though it may be, there was a sense of rationality to their treatment of women. Survival meant strength, strength meant the military, and the military needed numbers. A stable community did not necessarily mean a kind one. Still, he thought to himself, it was better that his daughter remained at Shi-town then amongst these animals. He didn't even want to think about the pain Ziyi would endure here. Madame Zhang, on the other hand, would probably just break any hand that touched her, and mock the women for being too weak to defend themselves.

Eventually, he came across a crowd, cheering and hollering over some kind of ruckus. Jiasheng pushed his way through the mass, and saw in the center two soldiers fighting it out. The armor of the younger one indicated that he was a centurion, one of the field leaders for the army, while the other was dressed in a slightly more modest fashion. The two men grappled with one another, with the older man trying to force the younger to the ground. The younger managed to get a few blows into the older man's ribs, forcing him to back off. Once he did, the younger man threw his whole body into taking the elder down, and dove on top of him, raining punch after punch on his head. The elder grabbed a fistful of dirt, threw it in the centurion's eyes, and pushed the dazed man off of him. As he did, the elder man got behind the younger, wrapped his arm around the neck, and began to strangle him until someone said stop.

A Legion officer strolled into the field. "Centurion Jacoba, your application to join the Praetorian Guard has failed. You are permitted to leave, and return to your men. You may not challenge Philipus again for his position," he decreed. As the centurion dejectedly marched off, Jiasheng went over how the fight played out. Both men fought like desperate animals, relying solely on strength and low cunning to win. Their technique left much to be desired, but it was apparent that the older veteran had been playing the younger from the start. "Damn shame about Jacoba, he was so looking forward to becoming a Praetorian. You should have seen the fights before we lost at Hoover Dam. They were much more brutal back then, and they fought to the death, as well," a voice behind him spoke. Jiasheng turned to see a young, boyish looking legionary with dirty blonde hair. "You're that Fang Master Commander Inculta was talking about, correct?" he asked. Feng just snorted.

Rubbing the back of his head, the young legionary continued. "My name is Titus, and I'm another member of the Frumentarii. Vulpes sent me to fill you in on what is new at the camp," he declared. He waited for Jiasheng to respond, but the man did not speak. "Erhm, anyway, when Legate Lanius returned from his skirmish, he brought someone with him. Rumor says it was a strange woman, but thus far, no one who has entered the City Hall can confirm such or otherwise. Since then, he's been hold up in his chamber, and few have managed to speak with him," Titus concluded. Jiasheng looked in the direction of city hall. He had no time for rumors or gossip, what mattered was his meeting with the Legate. "Is my appointment ready, lackey?" Jiasheng demanded to know.

The legionary was caught off guard by the remark, and several nearby had overheard. Even the woman stitching perked her head up. You could have heard a pin drop in the dirt in the quiet. "You forget your place, Profligate. The Legate will see you when he is ready for you, and not a moment sooner," Titus threatened. As he was slowly surrounded, Jiasheng chuckled softly. "You have to forgive me, these old ears aren't what they used to be. Could you kindly repeat that?" he asked. "Foreign bastard. The Legate will see you whe-UGH," Titus was interrupted by Jiasheng slamming his open palm into his chest, knocking him back three yards.

When Vulpes returned to look for Jiasheng, he had gotten wind of a commotion near the Praetorian testing ground. When he arrived, he came across a scene in which Feng Jiasheng had overpowered ten legionaries, and had them sprawled all around the testing ground. He was sitting on top of two unconscious legionaries, chatting with a pregnant slave. They both seemed to be fairly relaxed, unconcerned that anyone could come across the scene and demand answers. Vulpes cleared his throat, causing the woman to become nervous, while Feng gazed up at Inculta, unconcerned. "I suppose you won't tell me what had just transpired here?" Vulpes asked. "Correct. Is my appointment with the Legate ready yet?" Feng asked, the most relaxed he had been since meeting the Frumentarii. Vulpes nodded. Feng beckoned the woman his leave, then headed to City Hall, confident that he had dissuaded any further "incidents."

At the end of the Long 15

Desert Chief Floyd Wilson had just finished filing out his paperwork for Col. Royez. The man was a hardass, and without an enemy to fight, tended to give travelers grief for the stupidest reasons. Wilson's ears were still ringing from the earful that the officer gave him when he heard about the dissolution of the treaty. Still, he ran a tight ship, so there was probably no point in complaining about some insults every rookie heard in basic. Smiling at the secretary, he filed his forms, tipped his cap, and exited the building.

As he did, he looked up at the statues of the NCR and Desert Rangers shaking hands. He felt a temporary pang of guilt. He remembered the day they signed the treaty, how ecstatic he was that the Desert Rangers would finally have the manpower to shut down Caesar's Legion in Nevada, once and for all. In the end, however, the red tape and political jockeying became unbearable, and he almost started to miss the days when the Desert Rangers had too many problems and not enough men. The Courier succeeding where the brass failed was the last straw. From that point forward, alliance or no alliance, he was going to deal with problems as he saw fit.

Problem was, between him and the several dozen veteran rangers brave enough to follow him, he still had some issues that needed dealt with, first. Convincing Lars not to sic his robots on them was a primary one. However, since Vega was apparently out of town at the moment (probably out of hookers to hump) Wilson and several of his deputies came to the decision to run their operation on the outskirts of the city, as to convince the new government that he wasn't trying to step on anyone's toes. The rest of his issues were more domestic. Issues like funding, supplies, recruitment, reconnaissance, but most pressing of all, who to shoot at. To the Courier's credit, he was reasonably good at "waste management," eliminating the Legion and raiders from the Mojave, the Desert Rangers were probably going to have to move through Zion Canyon on their way to find either some tribals or slavers to fight. As fortune would have it, his answer would arrive before he even left the outpost.

A caravan had stopped at the outpost, and the owner was arguing with some of the hired guns. One of the guards was nursing a head wound, and screaming about running into a bunch of "tin-men." Casually, Floyd approached the arguers, and offered his newly freed services. The owner, a pudgy, well dressed man, nearly lit up when he saw a Desert Ranger back in Nevada.

"Oh, this is wonderful. I knew the NCR wouldn't let that thug Vega work it over," he exclaimed, joyfully. "Sorry, old-timer, I'm not here for Perez. Yet, anyway. I was noticing you were having issues with your associates, and I was wondering if there is anything I could oblige you with," Wilson drawled, turning the folksiness on thick. The guard nursing a head wound spat on the ground. "Those… Brotherhood motherfuckers are making trade a living hell! Ever since Hoover Dam, Lars has given those assholes free reign over the southern end of the Mojave. Every time they catch a caravan, they shake it down and haul away any tech they think is "dangerous." I've lost count of how many times I've been held up!" he yelled. "Not to mention how much they've cost us!" added the caravan owner.

Wilson pondered the information. The Brotherhood of Steel had been one of the NCR's staunchest allies, and later one of its deadliest adversaries. Despite facing near annihilation at the end of the NCR-Brotherhood war, their Elders seemed to be a special kind of thick. During the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, a contingent of Brotherhood paladins took advantage of the withdrawing NCR forces and recaptured Helios One. With the NCR gone, and Lars in all likelihood un-eager to discipline a bunch of his war buddies, the Brotherhood of Steel seemed poised to act however they wanted without consequence. Until now.

As he dismissed the caravan, he called two of his most trusted deputies, Gerald O'Harris and Matilda Kenway. After going over his proposal, he asked them for their opinions. "Well, if you ask me, they're too well armed to take head on, but thankfully, their numbers should be shot," Kenway suggested. "Aye, but we need a new HQ before we start to do anything we'll end up regretting," O'Harris confided. "Don't worry about it. I think I already have a location in mind. All right everyone, listen up! The plan so far is this; we work to dissuade the Brotherhood from continuing to harass caravans and travelers. No one starts a fight; no one fires unless fired upon. We cannot confirm if the Brotherhood still has an alliance with Vega, and until we can, we will focus on recon until further orders are relayed. Do I hear a sir, yes sir!" he barked. The dozens and dozens of black-armored Rangers all stood at attention, shouting in unison "Sir, Yes Sir!"

The Hub

"Ma'am, I think you've had enough," the bartender meagerly replied. Natalie shot him a dirty look. "More," she slurred, motioning clumsily towards her sidearm. The bartender relented, pouring her another bourbon. Drinking greedily from the glass, Natalie once again cursed her rotten luck. Of all the people she had to be stuck with, Perez had to be the absolute worst, short of the Legion. Granted, she had yet to meet the man himself, but her orders were to wait for him, in this particular bar, at five o'clock. Six hours later, she was beginning to question whether or not Perez even wanted, much less deserved, NCR protection. Diplomatic immunity my ass, she thought to herself. He gets a bullet in his head, it'll be way too soon, she told herself.

Looking around her, she saw that this particular bar was popular with military patrons. Troopers, mechanics, officers, and even the occasional Ranger could be pried away from their duties long enough to enjoy a pint. Every now and then, a drunken veteran would raise a toast and drink to Lars "Vega" Perez's health. Syphilis being the most popular desired ailment. She raised her glass once or twice, but generally kept to herself and waited. A soldier took the stool next to hers, declining the bartenders offers to have a glass. Ranger Hale looked him over. He was gloomy looking, stern, and wore shades like he was some kind of hotshot. Then again, if his beret was any indication, he probably was. Since her contact hadn't come, a little conversation wouldn't do any harm, would it?

"H-Hey, buddy, you _hic_ you First Recon?" she slurred. The man just ignored her. "Awww, c'mon ba _hic_ baby, hehehehe, war's over. H-h-hey, you wanna get you _hic_ your ticket punched, hehehe," she continued, not caring that she was making an ass of herself. Sure, the Chief might be pissed with how she was operating, but he stuck her with this damn snipe hunt in the first place! If Perez was a no-show, then she may as well get laid, she figured. "No thanks, _ma'am_, I'm here on business," he sternly replied. "Business, shmisness, whatever b-b-buddy. You don't have to _hic _be a dick about it. Not my fault my dumbass mark took his sweet time _hic _getting here," she slurred, beckoning the barkeep another drink.

"Oh, and who would have the poor luck to have you as an escort," the man asked, pointedly. "Oh oh oh, wait till ya hear this. You're gunna _hic_ think is hilarious. You know that asswipe who cost us the Mojave? My boss wants me to tail that motherfu-u-u…" she lost her trail of speech when the drink arrived. She reached out to take it when the man shot his hand out, covering the top of the glass. "Wait, _you're _the Ranger the NCR sent to protect us?" the sniper uttered, disbelieving. Natalie, mind functioning a few seconds slower then normal, processed this new information with all the poise and grace she could muster. "Y-Y-Y-YOU MUTHER-FFFFFFFFUCKER! You kept me waiting here for who knows how long, and you wanna talk _hic_ shit to meeeee," she slurred as she stumbled off of her stool.

Boone was about to leave, but after realizing that they _had_ kept the poor girl waiting for way too long, he figured in this case, she was kind of in the right. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. Really. Some things came up and we forgot about the escort. My name is Craig Boone. What do you say; want to get cleaned up and meet with the rest of the guys in the morning?" he suggested, apologetically, as he held out a hand to the intoxicated ranger. Swatting his hand away, Natalie steadied herself on the barstool. "W-where the hell were you sorry bitches earlier, huh?" she slurred as she got back on her feet. Boone rubbed the back of his neck. Where to start…

On top of the Hub radio tower, two hundred feet above ground.

Of all the cities in the NCR, the Hub was by far the largest. The only city in California with a population that exceeded one hundred thousand, and probably the only city of its type on the continent, the Hub was the primary trading center for the NCR. Its merchants had influence to challenge nearly any mayor or general in the country, and they were more then eager to invest their profits back into the city. One of the most noticeable was a radio tower, one that was large enough to broadcast through practically every town and settlement in southern California.

When Lars rejoined the world of the living, a former Vault resident named Dr. Mitchell offered him his old Pip-boy, a multi-purpose tool that proved to be invaluable to the Courier's journey. Amongst its purposes was as a radio receiver and transmitter. After Hoover Dam, it allowed him to keep in contact with his friends when they were out of town, and it allowed him to receive and relay messages from various individuals and organizations. However, the more distance he put in between his friends and allies, the weaker the signal was. So when he received a garbled transmission, he had to improvise.

"Raul, we finally ready, yet?" Lars hollered. "Soon, boss," Raul yelled as he fiddled with the wires. There were probably better ways to handle the situation then to have a human, ghoul, and nightkin perched on top of a radio tower, but those would have taken time, and since Cass made it clear that they had until tomorrow to leave the city, this was the only option they had. "Hold steady, Lily, we almost have a decent reception," Raul coaxed at the nightkin. "OK, deary, don't worry about grandma, she's got this taken care of," Lily roared as she held on to the top of the radio tower with one arm and held aloft a smattering of scrap in the other. Finding the material needed to complete this broadcast was the easy part, thanks in no small part to Raul's keen eyes for all things mechanical. Getting on the radio tower itself, however, required much stealth and a diversion at the front desk.

"All right, everyone, we're going live in 5…4…3…2…" Raul counted down as the Pip-boy sparked to life. Lars fiddled with the dials until he synched up with the broadcast signal. "Hello? Arcade, Ronnie, you calling? What's going on?" Lars spoke into the receiver. "Oh, finally, you called! You have any idea how worried sick Arcade and I were?" Veronica spoke over the line. Lars rolled his eyes. "Ronnie, this is serious. Right now, I'm about one 200 foot drop from joining the pavement, so please tell me this is very, very important." "Ignore Veronica, this is a matter that I needed to discuss with you personally," another voice spoke over the air. Lars's eyes narrowed. "McNamara… I thought I told you not to go near Veronica, ever again!" he screamed, scaring Raul and Lily, almost costing the latter her balance. "Lars, I… wait, really?" Veronica said. After the battle, Lars paid Hidden Valley a visit, offering a single condition. In exchange for allowing Veronica to live at the Lucky 38 peacefully, Lars would in no way, shape or form hinder the Brotherhood's operations. Since he knew for a fact that Lars was capable of taking down a squad of paladins, McNamara accepted the terms.

"Lars, I remember the deal, and I will still honor it, but what I have to tell you is important," McNamara pressed. "Make it quick, Nolan, and you better let Veronica go afterwards, or else I'll sic Yes Man on the rest of you!" growled Lars. "Please, Mr. Perez, there will be no need for that. Veronica is only here because I needed her skills and her association with you to get your attention. I will happily send her on her way when the matter is over," McNamara stressed. "Make it quick," Lars muttered, starting to get worried by the creaking noises that the tower was making. "All right, a few days ago, some of my scribes located a back door into an old world satellite observation network. We were going through some of the imagery, and we discovered something… unusual," the Elder began. "While scanning over the Hawaiian Islands, we discovered a small fleet of active warships anchored just off the coast of what was Pearl Harbor. Records indicate that the make and model of these warships are Chinese. Now, we don't know what they're doing, or where they are going, but I can confirm that there is movement on the island. We estimate that there is at least a division's worth of soldiers active on the islands," he continued.

Lars pondered the information. It had been over two hundred years since the Great War. No one had heard anything about China since the end of it. Granted, no one had heard anything about nearly anywhere since the end of the War. For starters, the entire east coast was practically a mystery to him. So, was he surprised to hear that apparently the Chinese were alive and well? No. What surprised him was that, in a world were every day was a battle to prevent humanity from falling apart, apparently ten thousand+ Chinese found time restart the Sino-American War. No, Lars thought to himself, that didn't make sense. Surely, if the new China were anything like the new America, they would have plenty of their own shit to sort through before starting a fight with something.

"Well, why are you calling me?" Lars asked, at a loss for ideas. "Well, some of the Brotherhood is at an impasse on what to do. Some think we should leave it be, but if they're trying what I think they must be, well, a lot of people would be in for a world of hurt. I just figured you could warn the NCR if you believed it would come to that," McNamara admitted. Lars thought it over. "… There is just way too much for anyone to really go over, especially considering what little any of us actually knows. Thanks for the info, but right now, I'm not exactly on good terms with the Republic," Lars confessed. "I… appreciate your candor on this issue, Mr. Perez. I will inform the rest of the Brotherhood of your decision, and I… we'll closely monitor the situation as it develops," finished McNamara.

"Sounds good. Well, I think I better get off this thing before I get tetanus, so later, I guess," Lars spoke, and was about to shut off the transceiver. "Wait, Lars!" Veronica spoke. "Yeah?" "…Thank you, Lars," Veronica said, as she closed off her end of the signal. Back at Hidden Valley, Veronica and McNamara both sat in silence. They had already said everything there was to say to each other months ago. "So… Lars had to threaten you to leave me alone," Veronica whispered. McNamara looked away from his young former charge. "Man, I would have loved to see that," Veronica continued, her quietness clashing with her sincerity. McNamara chuckled, sadly. "Listen, you and your friend can stay the night, but afterwards, I think it will be better for everyone if you just left," he said, quietly. Veronica nodded, then left to find Arcade and herself some spare bunks. Most of the Brotherhood fighters were either on patrol in the wastes, or guarding Helios One, but if another patrol ran into the two of them outside, they probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot them down. McNamara didn't risk everything to help the Mojave Brotherhood survive just so a vengeful Courier could annihilate them.

An "abandoned" barn just east of the Hub

This was usually the hardest part of the meal. "SSSSssssllluuuuuurp!" and out came the innards. The creature tossed aside the combat armor to the pile. The less scratches and marks on the armor, he figured, the longer his teeth and claws would last. He had tried swallowing the entire body whole, but that was just a choking hazard waiting to happen.

Pissing off that "Jarrod" character had proven to be very beneficial to his nutrition. The only plentiful meat in the wasteland came from humans. Sure, he could try knocking over a Brahmin or a bighorner ranch every now and then, but there was something about humans… It wasn't just the taste; it was the "adventure." He could easily kill a molerat or a Yao Guai, but the way humans fluctuated in their difficulty and their demeanors… no two humans could be hunted quite the same way, and they never tasted the same. Delectable.

He could have easily gotten the jump on that "Gonzo" character, but instead, he held back his nature and eavesdropped on the man for up to an hour. In doing so, he had realized that the man was working with another, and that they were part of an even larger group. It had been a while since he had an opportunity to have such a feast. The Gonzo was dead before he even realized what had happened. Next, he had adopted a particular talent rarely utilized by his… type, and imitated the recently deceased, baiting the other man into returning. It was nice to see his throwing improve, on that note. Finally, after recognizing the type of individual who was running the show, he successfully baited the lead human into sending a search party practically into his own gaping maw.

He had enough meat in this shack to last him a week, which freed him up to continue his hobby. Ham-radio operating! In addition to being delicious, he also had to marvel at the creativity of his prey. One of the things that he had gained after breaking off with the rest of his brethren was an appreciation for music. And surely there was no greater music then "Johnny Guitar," because if there were, then surely the radio human wouldn't be playing it over and over.

As he snuggled down to sleep, letting the words wash over his ears, he watched through lidded eyes as he drifted off to sleep, and wondered if his increased intelligence made up for the sense of loneliness he sometimes felt. He thought about the pack he would never lead, the females he would never mate with, and the brood he would never raise. Well, he figured, I suppose that's the price you pay when you sacrifice nature for intellect, he thought, going over his claws. Still, maybe having a few little companions to keep him company would do him some good, he thought to himself. Heh, then again, who would want to be caught dead with a Deathclaw… or rather, he chuckled, who wouldn't…

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Deathclaw: One of the United States first experiments with the Forced Evolution Virus, Deathclaws are mutations of the Jackson's Chameleon. Initially expected to function as "terror units" behind enemy lines, the experiments were abandoned near the advent of the Great War. The research was unearthed by the Children of the Cathedral, a branch of the Unity, who continued to perfect the project until several specimens escaped and repopulated in the wasteland. Deathclaws have a strong pack mentality, and rarely venture off alone. Rumor has it that the Enclave created a species that was intelligent enough to learn and even talk, though rumor also states that Special Agent Frank Horrigan also annihilated whatever clan remained.

**I was going to end it earlier, but seeing the popularity of a certain character made me figure that I should add a little something. This is why you leave reviews, people, that way you can tell the writer what you love!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Along 1-95

Arcade and Veronica quietly left Hidden Valley shortly before sunrise. Thankfully for Veronica, she did not run into any familiar faces on the way out. Once they hit the interstate, they both figured they could reach the Mojave Outpost by noon if they kept the pace steady. With their eyes peeled for more Brotherhood patrols, they walked down the road in silence. Arcade understood having connections one wasn't particularly proud of, but he was thankful it didn't come down to burning any bridges. The Remnants, to their credit, just wanted to be left alone, while the Brotherhood made it its mission statement to hassle other travelers and adhere to a dying tradition. Over a century ago, when the world was completely lawless and safety wasn't guaranteed, the Brotherhood was absolutely justified in safeguarding technology from raiders and bandits. Now, however, with nations like the NCR and New Vegas starting to stabilize and flourish, the Brotherhood needed to realize, sooner or later, that the time of the Codex was over.

"You ever wondered what happened to ED-E?" Veronica asked, suddenly. Arcade scratched his head. "I think he…it… joined up with some of the Followers heading out west," Arcade suggested. "Hm… that's interesting…I always liked him…it, I mean," Veronica replied. Just then, Arcade spotted something in the distance. "Veronica, get down," Arcade whispered. As they hid behind a billboard, Arcade watched the distant figure cautiously. It was alone, swaying, and apparently limping. Didn't seem like any Brotherhood patrol he ever met, but it could be some kind of raider lookout. "Veronica, when I say go, I want you to double around those rocks over their, and come up behind whoever is down there, understo-" Arcade had turned to see Veronica had already left, the back of her hood disappearing behind the rocks. Laughing slightly, Arcade popped out from behind the billboard, only to see that the figure in front of him had fallen over.

Arcade, wary of such an obvious ambush, proceeded cautiously towards the figure, where he managed to get a better look at the man. He was wearing a blue jacket, one that seemed fairly familiar. Drawing his plasma pistol, Arcade called out to the man "Hey, you wouldn't happen to be a Powder Ganger, would you?" The man attempted to lift his head, but collapsed from exhaustion. Arcade rushed over, realizing that the man was bleeding out. Though he had no love for the convicts, he took his Hippocratic oath very seriously, and would do his best to try and help anyone in pain or need.

"Sir, my name is Dr. Gannon. I need you to stay conscious. Please, can you tell me your name," Arcade issued, as he scanned over the man's body for any hint of injury. "…_hurk…_ name's Keaton… I was just…" was all he could get out before a vicious coughing fit deprived his lungs of some desperately needed oxygen. Arcade, doctor's bag on hand, swiftly pulled out a stimpacks, jamming it down on his chest in an attempt to stop some of the swelling. The man was nursing a gunshot wound in his stomach, and had been bleeding out since, Arcade estimated, the middle of the night. To his credit, this "Keaton" was able to whip up a decent bandage around the wound, but the seeping had obviously taken a toll, and considering the severity of the shot, Arcade feared he was only prolonging the inevitable.

"Keaton, everything is going to be fine. Can you tell me what happened?" Arcade asked. "…Uh… I was just trying to… get some shuteye… when the alarm went off. Next thing I know… people were screaming Dawes got shot… then the snipers on the roof got wasted… then _they _busted in…" Keaton wheezed out, clearly still in pain. "Who's "they"" Arcade asked. "…Doesn't make any damn sense… the NCR's gone… how… why…" and with that, the convict choked out his last breath. Arcade wasn't a spiritual person, but he still felt it appropriate to close the man's eyes for the last time.

"There's nothing we can do, Veronica, you can come out now," he breathed. He looked up, seeing that his friend was nowhere to be found. "Veronica!" he called out. "Over here! You have to see this!" Veronica called out from a hill. Rushing to his partner, Arcade climbed the slope, and when he reached the top, looked out over a prison. The NCRCF was the formerly the primary detention center for the NCR in the Mojave, until an uprising killed the guards and established the Powder Gangers as a considerable nuisance for NCR caravans. Until now, it would seem.

Now, judging from the piles of corpses, mostly wearing the prison uniforms, it would appear that the balance of power in the south Mojave had shifted, permanently. Now, the sentries on the towers wore black armor with trench coats. Anyone who had spent any time around the NCR military could tell you what those fatigues meant. Rangers, veterans at that. But… did this mean that the NCR was… invading? "Arcade… have you ever seen a flag like that?" Veronica asked. Waving from the top of the Western tower was a flag. Not of the two headed bear of the NCR, however. This one was tan, with a brown skull in the shape of a mushroom cloud in the center. "Huh… I don't believe it. They actually did it," Arcade chuckled sadly. "I see, so I wasn't imagining it. They're finally back," Veronica laughed nervously. The rumors were true, the treaty was dissolved, and the Desert Rangers were back in the Mojave.

Judging from the bodies and damage to the facility, it seemed to be pretty obvious what had happened. During the night, the Desert Ranger must have launched a raid against the Powder Gangers. Despite being hardened criminals armed with an excess of dynamite, the Gangers had not even been a close match for the well organized, disciplined, and ruthlessly efficient troopers. The surviving Gangers were busy digging holes outside the prison to bury their recently deceased comrades, and what would happen to them afterwards was anyone's guess. The Desert Rangers, in the meantime, were busy acclimating to their new apparent headquarters. One Ranger, evidently the chief, strode up and down the courtyard, directing the rest of the group as they salvaged, secured, and even cleaned the place.

"What do you think we should do?" Arcade asked. "…I don't know… warn someone?" suggested Veronica. The Desert Rangers had a legendary reputation east of California, not to mention ruthless. Though they looked after the weak and defenseless, they also introduced Hell to whoever or whatever they fought against. Until Caesar's Legion made them desperate, the Desert Rangers had never been defeated, either by raider or super mutant. "Maybe this is a good thing. With the Rangers patrolling the Mojave, things will be more secure, right?" Arcade pondered. Veronica, however, was silent. _Please,_ she prayed, to whom or what she had no idea. _Please, don't let this mean what I think it does…_

The Hub, the morning after.

There was a knock on the door. Nat just wished he would buzz off, she was tired, and this hangover wasn't going to sleep itself off. "Hey, the gang is heading out. You don't want to piss off your boss, you better get moving," the sniper said, voice muffled by the door. Dragging her body off the bed, somewhat grateful she had passed out in her clothing. She reluctantly opened the door, revealing the sniper holding a bag of crackers. "Eat these, a friend of mine says they help," he offered. Taking the snacks, Nat gnawed on them as they left the motel.

"Hey, Boone, was it? I'm… sorry I acted like such a bitch last night. There's a reason I don't drink too often," she replied, sheepishly. "Eh, I've seen worse," Boone said, almost smiling a bit. As the starches cleared her head a bit, Natalie went over what she had recalled about the Couriers inner circle. From what she remembered, former Corporal Craig Boone was ex-First Recon, one of the most dangerous and effective units of the NCR regular military. As for the man himself, his post-military career was hazy at best, it was confirmed that he had fought at both battles at Hoover, and had worked with Perez extensively. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Natalie asked. "…Sure, why not," Boone stated. "What is he like? Vega, I mean," she continued.

Boone scratched his chin. "You don't seem like someone whose looking for a reason to like him," he said, bluntly. "Well, isn't it obvious! He… he screwed everyone over! He undermined five years of blood, sweat, and tears, apparently just because he could! You're military, right? You have to understand!" she vented. Boone turned to the rookie Ranger "Look, I understand completely where you're coming from, and between you and me, I don't fully disagree. To answer your first question, he's an asshole." Whatever answer Natalie was expecting, that was certainly not it. "A lecherous, drunken, egotistical asshole. Who also went out of his way to help me sort some personal matters out. If he didn't, well, I probably don't want to think about what could have happened if those weren't taken care of. So I guess, in spite of everything, I consider him a very good friend," Boone concluded.

They stopped by the caravan pit stop, an area filled with the overbearing stench of Brahmin, with dozens of individual caravans either settling in or preparing to leave. "Number 37, that's us," Boone said, looking at several numbered poles where various Brahmin were tied up. They arrived at their stop to see a ghoul and a nightkin securing their Brahmin. "Raul, Lily, this is Ranger Natalie Hale. She will be escorting us for as long as we remain in NCR territory," Boone explained. "Oh, wonderful, I finally get the VIP treatment after all these years," Raul joked. Lily was busy fussing with the Brahmin. "The two bosses are out at the moment. Cass went to meet with the employer and Lars decided to go shopping," Raul continued. "So, Raul, how did the phone call go?" Boone asked. "Eh, the wind chill wasn't as horrible as it could have been, and I'm pretty sure the guard dogs are still chewing on the steak we threw in," Raul answered. Nat decided to keep her mouth shut. Breaking and entering was a severe offense, but she didn't think any of her superiors had figured out how to deal with or even recognize "diplomatic immunity."

A woman with strawberry-blond hair arrived, carrying a brown package the size of a human head. "The contact was chatty, today, and I couldn't make out half the things he was saying, but our next stop is San Francisco, or Shi-town or whatever it's calling itself. Who the hell is this?" Cass said, finally noticing the Ranger. "Ms. Cassidy? I'm Ranger Natalie Hale, here on orders from Chief Murdock to…" she began. "Ok, Ok, I get it. You're here to babysit Perez because he wants to take a vacation in the NCR," Cass cut her off, dismissively. "Gotta say, though, that I expected maybe half a dozen veterans, or maybe at least a platoon," another voice interrupted. Natalie turned to see a man in a duster and a black cowboy hat, shouldering a grenade launcher. He pushed passed her as he loaded the weapon onto the Brahmin. "Well, if nothing else, at least you look easy on the eyes," he continued. "Perez, you've only just met the woman, and you're already trying to get in her pants," Cass snorted, rolling her eyes. "Cass, how many times do I have to tell you? I never try to get women to screw me. They just want to," Perez stated, matter-of-factly. "You're a real Romeo, Vega," Cass muttered, as she loaded her package next to the launcher.

Nat could not have been more… underwhelmed by her first impression of the man who cheated the NCR. In the days leading up to the actual meeting, her mind raced with the countless possibilities of what this man could be like. After meeting him personally, he looked like just about any scraggly caravan runner. The most standout thing about him, she figured, was the bizarre energy weapon hanging from his back. Nonetheless, she brought herself to salute. "Mr. Perez, I am to remain in your company until such time you decide to leave the NCR. I am here for your protection, and nothing more," Natalie recited. "Well, I can assure you I already feel much safer with an NCR Ranger watching my back," he said, smiling, but not without the faintest whiff of sarcasm. He held out his hand. Natalie, still saluting, looked down at his hand, but did not take it.

"We're burning daylight, and none of you are getting paid to sit around. Let's go, everyone," Cass hollered, as she slapped the backside of the Brahmin into motion. Lars promptly forgot all about the failed handshake and walked off to join the rest of the leaving group. Natalie finally dropped her salute, exhaling sharply. Whether she like it or not, Lars "Vega" Perez was now under her protection. Well, may as well get it over with, she told herself. She fell in behind Boone, and eventually, the caravan left the city limits, heading ever westward towards the new city.

Flagstaff

The City Hall of Flagstaff was a boxy, squarish building, with practically no Roman architecture evident within the design. Yet, for the purposes of the Legion, it was named Caesar's Palace, back when he was still alive. Intending to have the building remain only a temporary headquarters, Caesar had placed all his ambitions towards conquering Vegas as his true Rome. With that ambition dead, Legate Lanius and Vulpes Inculta had worked fastidiously to ensure that the heart of the Legion remained alive and well in Arizona, even as they worked hard to branch out into the east. The building served as the main quarters for the Legion's military command, an administration center for the scant domestic activities the Legion could bother with, and a dungeon, deep in the basement.

When Lanius returned after conquering Skull-Thrash, rumor had it that he had brought back his daughter. Normally, Legion tradition would dictate that she be passed through the ranks, not unlike the loot commonly gained through conquest. However, Lanius had evidently thrown her into the cells below for her protection, only allowing her guards to give her the barest subsistence. No one, it seemed, had actually laid their eyes on the woman herself. Only Lanius and a handful of trusted men could confirm it, and Lanius had forbade anyone from talking.

Lanius stood, alone in the dark, just outside the doorway to a room, down in the basement. Another round of petty meetings had just adjourned, and he had given Vulpes permission to oversee the day-to-day operations in his stead, which suited the jackal just fine. Normally, many would see this as giving Vulpes an opportunity to overthrow him, but Lanius knew Vulpes better then that. As long as Lanius was the head of the Bull, those who wished to break the Legion would seek his neck. Vulpes, for all his cunning, neither desired nor wanted the stress of that responsibility. Time spent assuring his survival was better spent scheming, Lanius supposed. Putting his mind back to the matter at hand, he opened the door.

Inside, next to a dim gas-lantern, a thin young woman dressed in grey flowing cloth sat meditating next to the lantern. She was pale, with long black hair that covered her eyes, leaving only her small nose and mouth peeking from her bangs. "So, you've finally returned? I was beginning to think you were going to starve me to death," the woman said, cradling a bowl of gruel. "If I wanted you dead, witch, I would only need to reach around your neck and snap it like a twig. No, what I'm here to do is ask," the Legate bellowed. The woman tilted her head up, smiling a bit. "That is all we've been doing, Son of Caesar. I scarcely believe it necessary to announce it every single time," she japed. Normally, anyone who showed such flagrant insolence towards the Legate would have been backhanded hard enough to lose teeth, but Lanius always held back against this woman, in spite of her disrespect. Maybe it was because she didn't look like she could survive long enough to regret it, or maybe because she seemed to remember her place as a subordinate.

"Vulpes new friend. Is there anything you could tell me about him?" Lanius ordered. "Who?" she asked. "I am in no mood for games, witch. The man from the west, who flaunts his disrespect as much as you," Lanius barked. The woman looked up a bit, as if in thought. "Oh, you mean the Dragon Man! The one your soldiers fear most at the camp, should you leave us before your time?" she said, nonchalantly. Lanius made no movement, but internally, he was grimacing. Her… talents, however useful, were certainly very…chilling. Despite being locked up in the dungeon for days, she had an uncanny aptitude for picking up news around the camp. It seemed all the secrets in the town just…flowed towards her.

"Yes, I've spoken at length with him, but I wanted to hear what you made of him," Lanius beckoned. The woman looked pensive, before saying "Dear Lanius, there is only so much I can do, only so many voices I can hear, and only so many currents I can follow," she stated, cryptically. Lanius groaned. "What do you need me to do?" "I would like to meet this man personally. Once I gain access to his mind, I can help you reach a decision, "Master"," she answered. "Unacceptable!" Lanius raged. The woman seemed caught off guard by this remark, but then started to chuckle. "Not eager to have the Legion lay their eyes on your new "pet," are you?" the woman asked. "A woman's place is nowhere near a warrior!" he bellowed. "Yet, you come to me, time and time again without fail. And not once have you even attempted to ravish me," she retorted, adding in a pout.

Lanius turned to storm out, dealing with this woman frayed his nerves more then the meetings did. "Forgive me my insolence, Legate, but if you fear the Legion viewing me as your equal, know that I have do desire to usurp your destiny from your grasp," the woman said, rising from the floor. Lanius turned to her again. "You keep speaking in riddles, witch. If you hadn't pledged your loyalty to me back in New Mexico, I would have crucified you with your imbecile father," he growled. "The only reason that man is dead is because he ignored me when I warned him not to attack the Legion. Believe me, I do not mourn that fool's death, no more then I would mourn yours if the Dragon Man will bring with him what I think he will," she said. Lanius was given pause. "So you do know what he plans. What does he need us for, what does he work for, what is his goal! I demand you answer me!" he ordered. The woman raised her head, allowing the twin white orbs to peek through her hair. "Waves and currents, Legate, waves and currents. Have you ever seen the bottom of the ocean, Legate, from the distance? You can't. In order to see what truly goes through that man's head, I will have to meet with him. I can remain your slave, Son of Caesar, or I can be your Oracle…"

Shi-town

As much as Ziyi enjoyed working with her closest friend, the constant barrage of paperwork and forms needing to be sorted and filed wore on her mind. From sunrise to sunset, she went over the payroll, approved acquisition forms, wrote up leases and filed the city's taxes, in addition to managing Madame Zhang's busy appointment schedule. Occasionally, she would be called away to assist Zhang in working on a particular project, but thus far, nothing had come up in the past week. After sorting through the day's most pressing matters, she had pondered to herself whether she should get started on tomorrows load, or call it an early night. After reaching her decision, she grabbed her coat, and was about to head for the doorway when it opened.

At the top floor, Madame Zhang meditated. Her meetings with the Wrights and that oaf Speekreed long since dealt with, she tried to clear her mind of stress. Though a layman would have figured she was simply taking a nap, Zhang was insistent that her mind remained clear and focused, even at the expense of "timeliness." If she burned out because of stress, it would spell disaster for more then just her mental health. Woes betide whoever, or whatever, disturbed her at this most critical juncture. *bzzt* "Madame Zhang, an officer from the NCR requests an audience with you," Ziyi spoke over the loudspeaker. Zhang's lip curled. "Tell Speckreed he can remove himself from my city if he is in anyway unhappy with how he has been treated," she said, slowly but dangerously. "Madame, do not insult me. Believe me, I do not give a damn about that geezer," another voice spoke into the microphone. Zhang was surprised by the woman's frankness. "Madame Zhang, I tried to explain your business to her, but she insisted…" Ziyi apologetically tried to pacify her leader. "Silence!" Zhang barked over the intercom, practically seeing her shrink back in her minds eye. "Send the good general on her way up," Zhang ordered, settling on her cushion.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a woman, strict and humorless, holding a recording device. "General Moore, what an unexpected pleasure. How is the Sierra position treating you," Zhang greeted. "None of your business, Zhang, and not important. I just intercepted something that I believe should be brought to your attention. Placing the device on the table, she pushed a button, playing back the message that had been recorded. Though it was a bit hazy, the voices were distinct enough to make out what was being said. The three speakers were Elder Nolan McNamara, former-Journeyman Scribe Veronica Santanelgo, and Lars "Vega" Perez.

Zhang displayed no outward emotions, but inside, she was seething. Somebody failed completely on surveillance. Not only had Lars left Vegas without her knowledge, but also, miraculously, he was already made aware of the Cause. This would require swift and immediate adjustments. "General Moore, how many other people are aware of this transmission," Zhang muttered, cautiously. "Only some of my immediate staff, and they're all loyal. I can't guarantee that we were the only ones who could have intercepted the message, but considering how busy the Rangers have been, anyone else who heard it can probably be dismissed as a non issue," Moore stated. Madame Zhang poured herself and Moore some tea. "Though I am still combing through the chain of command to see if anyone else intends to bring it up," Moore continued, settling down on the floor and accepting a cup.

"Thank you, General, for your diligence. You've just saved me much trouble. Which reminds me… ZIYI!" she screamed into the intercom. "Mistress?" she replied, timidly. "Send a message to Jarrod. The contract has been cancelled. It looks like we do not have to draw out Perez after all," she commanded. "Shì de fūrén," Ziyi answered. Zhang exhaled. "I figured killing half of his friends would be enough to gain his attention, but apparently recent events dub this no longer necessary," Zhang admitted. "Fine, so what is your plan now?" Moore asked. Of all their allies in the West, Moore was far and away the most competent, efficient, and valuable. The Glorious Cause owed a significant debt of gratitude to its honorary member. "Continue as planned. Stall the NCR, keep bringing any available force north. You supply the manpower, and Jiasheng will supply the war," Zhang commanded. Moore nodded affirmatively. "I haven't forgotten, and I will ensure that you'll have a clear opening to your operation," Moore said. She took her cup and raised it. "Here is to secret allies and common cause," she toasted, with a smile. Zhang grinned as well, clinking her cup against the general's. As they drank in silence, Zhang's mind went to work thinking about how best to …alter recent developments.

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

New California Republic: Founded by Aradesh in 2186, the NCR is the most stabilized country known in the Post-war world. For better or worse, its government most resembles the Old World United States, and in recent years has moved away from the policies of President Tandi. Originally consisting of the Core Region, otherwise known as the former state of California, recent expansions have brought parts of Nevada, Oregon, and Baja under the NCR's banner. Its ever driving expansion east, however, has been recently halted thanks to the disastrous Mojave Campaign. While most citizens blame the NCR military leadership for the quagmire, some in the government hold out hope that the citizens of the Mojave will "see the light" and oust Perez from power.

**Wasn't easy, but I got it done. Feel free to review, question, critique, or whatever. No idea when the next chapter will be, but it's coming…**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

NCRCF

Floyd Wilson settled into the warden's office. Helping himself to some of the liquor of the previous inhabitants, he leaned back in the chair, allowing himself a few moments to relax and reminisce. The attack had been swift and brutal, and couldn't have happened to nicer guys. The Powder Gangers were his exhibit B towards his skepticism over "Governor" Perez's ability to run a country. Allowing a collective of convicts to take control of a major prison may have been an NCR mistake, but waiting for someone to clean up the mess was just unprofessional. All it took was two dozen volunteers, some wire cutters, and the right men positioned in the right places. By the time the sentries realized they had been intruded, bullets flew through their skulls. When the dizzied Powder Gangers filed out of their row houses, they walked right into a deathtrap. The operation lasted just under a half hour, and they had the bodies of some forty Powder Gangers to show for it. The handful of survivors, after cleaning up the prison and burying their brethren, were re-shackled into a ragged chain gang, and sent West to the Mojave Outpost, where Royez could deal with them as they saw fit. Floyd figured it would be something of a "farewell" gift to the NCR. Though there was word that there was several independent holdouts scattered around the immediate area, but if today was any indication, the Gangers should know when to fold.

Still, that was little more then a test run. Floyd would have to now concern himself with exhibit A, the Brotherhood of Steel. Though the Desert Rangers had spent their history fighting tribals and raiders, they had typically had no cause to come into conflict with the Brotherhood. Hell, in some ways, the Brotherhood and the Desert Rangers were both concerned with securing the wasteland, so they could technically be comrades. When the Master's Unity was the most dangerous threat to the wasteland, both organizations served as the front line defenders for the innocent, though that Vault Dweller got most of the credit for telling that oversized tumor to kill itself. Wilson shook his head; he wasn't taking a history test, he was trying to stop the current most dangerous threat in Mojave.

He had sent Deputy Chief Kenway to secure the town of Nipton. Abandoned since the Legion murdered all the inhabitants, it was practically a stone throw away from Helios One, and was an excellent position from which to monitor Brotherhood activity. Deputy Chief O'Harris was sent to New Vegas to speak with Perez's… "Administration." Though the ex-courier seemed to allow his old war buddies free reign in the south of the Mojave, no one could be sure if the courier was in any way interested in maintaining the alliance that made him the king. If he were; then proceeding forward would be complicated. If he weren't; then proceeding forward would be a different kind of complicated.

A ranger knocked outside the doorway. "What's new?" Wilson asked. The ranger saluted. "Sir, we've gotten word that Governor Perez has left the Mojave for an indefinite period. We don't know where he's going, or when he'll be back," The Ranger reported. Wilson stared in disbelief. "Well then, who the hell is O'Harris going to talk to?" "His "Diplomat-at-Large" the King. You remember him. I guess since the Kings are the only ones to have any decent relationship with the NCR, he figured he'd be a good middleman. Still, I pity Gerald," the ranger confided.

Wilson couldn't help but smirk. Cheesy as the man could be, the King was probably the only leader in Vegas not up his own ass when it came to outsiders. From what he could remember of the other three, they took their gimmicks bestowed by House to heart, resulting in three of the most unbearable caricature groups Wilson had ever laid eyes on. To think, his first year after joining the Desert Rangers, those tribes were still savage nomads. Now, they were holed up in those damn casinos, eyeballing the guests as well as each other. At least the Kings were proactive enough to attempt to keep some order in that slum.

"All right, thanks for the info. Any Brotherhood patrols spotted?" he asked. "Not yet, but we're keeping our eyes peeled. Should we introduce ourselves to the surrounding towns? I don't think Perez's government will appreciate us inviting ourselves into his city, but re-establishing some old relationships shouldn't piss anyone off?" The Ranger suggested. "That's not a terrible idea, Ranger…" Wilson paused, embarrassed a little. "Whisler, sir" he replied, saluting. "Whisler, I think you should serve as my personal go-between for the Deputy Chiefs, if that sounds alright," Wilson offered, smiling. "Sir, it would be an honor, sir!" Whisler replied, grinning behind his helmet.

Along Route 5

"…and that was my second encounter with Judge Clemen, who was nice enough to write it off as a misdemeanor. OK, Perez, your turn," Cassidy finished up. Lars scratched his chin for a second, thinking of how to top that story. Pity anything involving New Vegas would disqualify him, but that's what he got for letting Cass dictate the rules. "Alright, here's one. When I was running caravans out in Montana, there was this farmer, who claimed to have been abducted by aliens…" but Nat wasn't interested. She was basically retracing her path from Oakland, so the absolute waste of time she felt was practically palpable. Her fault for being a volunteer, she figured.

"It isn't usual that they're this chatty," Boone whispered to her. "They seem like they get along well enough," Nat admitted. "Believe me, it gets kind of overbearing when they really start to connect, but they'll be back to not talking to each other before sundown, I guarantee," Boone advised. "That Cassidy… she's John Cassidy's daughter, right? She doesn't seem to be anything like I envisioned," Natalie said. "All right, what do you mean?" Boone asked. "It's just… never mind," Natalie relented. She watched the two friends banter over specifics with Perez's story, which had apparently culminated in Lars narrowly avoiding a shotgun wedding with the farmer's daughter. How she was that accurate yet missed that many times, Lars didn't know.

"Ok, so everyone participated, except… you, new girl. You tell us something interesting," Cassidy called out over her shoulder. Natalie just looked at her. "Wait, it was just the two of you and Raul. Why did you skip Boone and the Nightkin," "Natalie, firstly, her name is Lily, and her stories all involve her grandkids, which we've all heard before. Secondly, Boone sucks at the story game. Isn't that right, Boone?" The sniper gave a shrug and a nod. "So that leaves you, Miss "Professional." Something surprising and weird, go!"

Natalie raked her brain for something that could impress them. Whether she respected them or not, she was a competitor, first and foremost. "Ok, here's something. I grew up on a ranch just outside Nevada. Brahmin, mostly. It was just my kid sisters, my older brother, our sick mom, and me. Dad was serving in the Rangers, at the time, and my brother was training to go join him. Anyway, usually after we lock up, we took turns patrolling the edge of the ranch for predators. But this one night, about ten years ago, we got word that there was a deathclaw sighted in the area. At first, we though we should just lock the animals up and be done with it as quickly as possible, but my brother came up with an idea,"

As she noticed the other members of the group were getting interested in the story, she continued. "We had a pretty sick Brahmin on the farm, and the vets prognosis was that she wouldn't last the week. So my brother decided to offer up some bait just outside the ranch. He talked me into volunteering to help set up a lookout near the bait, and told me to bring another rifle. We both decided not to tell mom about this, because we didn't want her to worry. Anyway, after tying her up to a tree, we both hid some distance away. We must have waited some four hours, but then, we saw it."

She leaned in closer to the group. "It just walked up to the Brahmin, she was too weak to really try to run away, but just before it swiped, it stopped. It sniffed the Brahmin for a bit, and then, and I swear I am not making this up, looked directly at us. We were terrified. We though we could shoot it when it helped itself to a meal, but neither of us wanted to take that thing head on. It just stared at us. Then, and I don't care if you don't believe me, shook its head at us. Then it walked away," she finished.

"…BULLSHIT!" Perez yelled. "Language!" Lily scolded. "Hehe, and I thought I've heard everything," Raul chuckled. "Yeah, I think you won today," said Boone. "I believe you," said Cass. "Wait, really?" Natalie replied. "Yeah, my old man was terrible at tall tales, so when he talked about working alongside a deathclaw with manners, I believe him," Cass explained. "Heh, no way, that's just some dumb rumor," Lars heckled. "Oh, excuse me, but I don't appreciate people calling my old man a liar," Cass snapped. "A liar, no, but an alcoholic, definitely," Perez countered. Cass was gasping. "Oh, that's absolutely rich, coming from you. You drank how many bottles of MY scotch this morning? Well, here's the thing Mr. "I own a whole fucking city but still haven't paid back my buddy's tab," its that…"

As the two started to argue, Natalie noticed that Raul had taken some pieces of cotton out of his poncho, and passed the contents out to Lily, Boone, and her. "It just makes the trip more pleasant, in my experience," Raul confided. Natalie gave him a quick smile, but before she put it in, felt Boone's hand on her shoulder. "So, how's your family now?" he asked. Natalie blinked. "Are… are we still doing the game?" she asked. "Do we have to? I'm just curious," he answered. "Well, my sisters run the ranch now…" she started. Boone began to realize where the story was going. "Hoover Dam?" he asked. "…Yeah," she finished. The two walked in silence, as much as the quarrel up front would allow. "…They were brave men, your dad and brother," Boone stated. "Yeah, I know," Natalie replied, in a tone that made it clear that she needed this conversation to end. Boone decided to take the hint, and stuffed in the cotton.

Just outside the Boneyard

"WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT?!" screamed Jarrod at the messenger outside his hotel room. "Madame Zhang has no more use for your services. She thanks you for your time, and will part with this for your trouble," the little man spoke in a clipped tone. The bag of silver was small, one coin for each man he had left. All five of them. It took all of Jarrod's self control to keep himself from beating that man to death, instead settling for slugging him across the jaw. Slamming the door, he stormed over to his bed, sat down, and began to fume.

Fifteen guys don't just vanish, he thought to himself. I did not go through all that shit just so that woman can jip me on the payment. As he fantasized about turning that Cassidy woman into pile of luminescent sludge, he realized that if word got out that his crew had been devastated in one such encounter, other people hoping to knock him out would start to get braver. That suited him just fine, he had more then enough ammo to spare, but it also risked cutting off his support from his family, which would really leave him stranded up the creek. If his family ever learned that he fucked up this badly, they wouldn't just refuse to let him live it down; they'd remove him from the family tree, entirely.

Laying back down, he tried to think about how he could replenish his manpower, find Cassidy again, and extract his debt from that woman. Jarrod went over his few allies, trying to remember which owed him favors and which he owed favors to. One by one, the list shortened, until only two names remained. He grimaced; neither were people he went out of his way to be associated with. One was a super mutant who had a… particular lifestyle that made him uncomfortable. The other was one of the few slavers who had managed to consistently remain ahead of the Rangers, conducting his business professionally and independent of any crime family or organization. Rising from the bed, he opened his door, kicked the messenger who was just getting up, and walked to his current lieutenants' room.

"Diego, get your ass out of here, we need to talk," he yelled through the door. A tired looking man opened the door reluctantly. "What, boss? I didn't do anything," he moaned. "Not important. I need you to tell me if you've heard where Francis is?  
Jarrod asked. "I'm sorry, I just woke up. I thought you asked me where Francis was?" the wiry man yawned. "I did," Jarrod groaned. Diego, now wide-awake, stared at his boss. "Sir, what on Earth do you want to get… _him_ for? Don't you still have your pride?" he pleaded. "I don't need pride, I need new muscle! Do you know where he is?" "I… I heard he stopped by town a while ago. Maybe someone knows?" the smaller man shrugged apologetically.

"Alright, fuck him then, where's Epps?" Jarrod asked again. "No, just… look, I get that we had a bad week, and Francis is one thing, but… I know we aren't exactly those Mormons, but don't you think…" Diego sputtered. "Where. Is. Epps?" Jarrod enunciated. "Look man, I… I got a family, boss. What am I supposed to tell my folks when I start working with…" he begged. "Now," Jarrod stated. "Fine, you son of a bitch! He's here, in the Boneyard. Apparently there's some bus station out of town where he's staying tonight," he relented. "Thank you, Diego. Get the men; tell them to follow my lead. We're going to hire some new recruits," Jarrod said, and with that, he turned away, leaving his subordinate to come to terms with the horror desperation typically brings.

Flagstaff

Jiasheng was given a tent, close to the center of town. Whether it was a statement to his importance and value, or a way to keep him under the watch of the Frumentarii, who could say. The meetings with Lanius were… informative. Though the man played the role of the brute well, it was apparent that he was cleverer then most. Still, it was obvious that the Legion's better days were behind it. The man named Caesar was the heart and soul of this terrible beast, but without him, Lanius could only hope to be a pale imitation. Despite his impressive showings east, the Legion was ceding territory, due to the stifled numbers of their soldiers. Eventually, losses and desertions would strangle the Legion to death faster then any war. Upon hearing of Feng Jiasheng's offer, the warlord agreed to entertain his guest in the mean time.

Though he did not need many comforts, Master Feng requested a few candles to allow him to read. Sitting on his cot, he flipped though the book. Romance of the Three Kingdoms, an old story he had read many times, but a classic, nonetheless. He found himself missing the past less when he read, not unlike fond memories of a loved one easing their passing from this life. Still, duty would always fill the space leisure could not. And a rested mind was a dedicated one. He decided that now was a good time to retire, and after snuffing the candles, laid his head down to rest

_Long dark hallways, going onwards and onwards. As he poked his head around the corner, he could see three Communist Loyalists searching the hallway. Fools. They were lowering their guards in the hopes that they could find an Imperial sympathizer. His assault rifle punished them for their arrogance. He brought out the map. The Imperial sympathizers had seized control of the Central, Western, and half of the Southern Zone. The Communists, however, held onto control of the water purifier, agriculture unit, and most importantly, the armory. The tunnel fighting had gone on for over a decade, and the two sides had reached a tenuous stalemate. Most of his unit was dead, and only Jiasheng could finish the mission. He did not fear death. To serve the Emperor was to serve a cause greater then oneself._

_ "So young, so patriotic, how quaint," a voice whispered in the dark. Jiasheng brought his rifle to bear. "__Shuí zài nàl__ǐ__?" he called out. From the blackness, a woman emerged. She wore grey robes, with long black hair covering her eyes. Only the lower half of her face and midriff were exposed. "So, you are the young Master Feng. You're handsomer then I was led to believe. Absolutely dashing," she goaded the young man. Jiasheng kept his rifle trained on her. "Tuì hòu," he barked. The woman smiled, and approached him as she held up her hands in surrender. "Oh, brave soldier, surely you would not be so unkind to fire upon a defenseless, lost civilian, would you?" she smirked. As she approached, Jiasheng panicked, and fired a round right into her head._

_ The woman faltered, stumbling but not falling. She peered up to the nervous fighter. A trickle of blood ran down her nose, dripping from her mouth. "Are all you Dragon men so rude?" She leaped towards him, grabbing the muzzle of the rifle, forcing it away from her while the young man spent all his ammo in a panic. "Now, I have questions, and you will answer them. You will tell me everything I wish to know," she growled, digging her fingers into the frightened man's face. "You will tell me everything I wish to know…"_

Jiasheng woke in a cold sweat. The horrible ordeal felt like it had gone on for hours. He tried to run, scream, fight, resist, but it was all for naught. Before the dream was over, he had told the witch about the Emperor, the Glorious Cause, and about his master. Internally, he berated himself for such weakness. Nightmare or not, anything short of indomitable willpower was unacceptable.

He eventually realized that he was not alone in the tent. Looking up, he saw the god-like visage of Lanius. "So, outlander, you do not seem quite so invincible in your slumber," the warlord remarked. Jiasheng hardened his expression, sitting up from the cot. "Surely, you have enough integrity not to hurt a slumbering warrior, Lanius." The warlord allowed a chuckle to escape. "Peace, outlander, I do not wish to kill you. Quite the opposite, I merely wished to learn more about you." As he spoke, a wraith-like figure emerged behind him. "_Devil Woman!_" Jiasheng snarled. "Glad to make your acquaintance, as well," she sneered. "Enough! Since you were unwilling to divulge your secrets personally, I found myself having to resort to… unconventional methods. Do not think to ill of me, for I know you would do the same," Lanius said as he turned out. The woman glanced at him, smirking at Jiasheng as she followed her master out.

Jiasheng sat back down on his cot. In one night, he had divulged more information to these barbarians then he had ever intended to surrender. There was so much more to this corpse of a country then he could ever have imagined. Nearly twenty years of reconnaissance, and still, he was surprised. No… more then that… impressed. He had been led to believe that Caesar's Legion was only a pack of particularly enthusiastic bandits. The more he learned of them, however, the more he found himself impressed. Maybe there was more to their future then cannon fodder. That woman, on the other hand, needed to be accounted for. Who was she, and why was she working with Lanius? He smiled. In the morning, he was going to have another conversation with Inculta…

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Caesar's Legion: The dominant power of the American Southwest; Caesar's Legion was founded by former Follower of the Apocalypse, Edward Sallow. Assisted by Joshua Graham, Sallow convinced or enslaved multiple tribes with the goal of creating a new nation. Naming himself "Caesar," he created an organization modeled after ancient Rome. Though lacking the training and dedication of the Brotherhood of Steel, or the wealth or resources and technology of the Enclave, Caesar's Legion is considered by many to be the most dangerous opponents the NCR has ever faced, due to the fanaticism, conditioning, and sheer volume of soldiers with which the Legion could bring to the fold. After the alleged assassination of Caesar, many experts predict that the Legion will collapse within a year.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Flagstaff

The next morning, Feng rose from his tent after spending the night with his eyes open. As far as he could tell, he received no new visitors later that night. A part of him regretted not bringing a few Dragoons with him into the camp, but it would've risked an incident with the Legion. Besides, he was more then capable of handling whatever threats physically came his way. That woman however… was a factor that needed to be registered, immediately. Was he surprised that there were people who could break into minds like houses or strongholds? No. He had seen too much of the new world to dismiss such notions, and psychic warfare was more then just a passing fancy of his masters. What concerned him, however, was just how someone like that ended up with the Legion.

As he walked through the camp, he noticed that many of the Legion were eyeing him nervously. Feng sniffed, indignantly. No doubt word had gotten out about the skirmish at the Praetorian pit. Many, it would seem, believed that killing him would result in boosting their own renown. As long as it is clear that I am not the aggressor, and that Lanius will understand a few losses, they are all more then welcome to try, he thought to himself. The legionaries were fearless, which did no one any good without the talent or skill to give fearlessness its value.

As he approached the lead tent of the Frumentarii, he noticed one of the guards out front had a familiar face. The young guard looked at him, face darkening with hate. "…You again. Vulpes is inside," Titus spat, curt and pointed. Feng brushed passed him, not even acknowledging that he had heard. Inside, he saw a large table with a crude yet detailed map of the Southwest, most of it Legion territory. Seated around the table was what Feng assumed were the heads of the Frumentarii. At the head sat Vulpes Inculta, who for the first time since Feng had met him had discarded that barbaric, tawdry jackal skin from his head. "Take a seat, Master Feng," the spymaster indicated towards a seat opposite of him.

As Feng sat down, Vulpes spoke again. "So I understand you have become acquainted with our other "guest," Master Feng?" "Of course. I take it you were unaware of some of her "talents," as much as I was," Feng said. "Quite a disturbing yet fascinating young woman, she is. They say she never leaves Lanius's side. At some of the recent council meetings, she usually sits on the left side of his throne. A very distinguished position for a woman, wouldn't you agree?" Vulpes asked. Feng sniffed. "She is a witch. How did your Legate stay his hand when meeting that vile creature?" he demanded to know. Vulpes sighed, before answering, "I do not have the slightest idea. I've never seen the man hesitate to cut down anyone from even slightly inconveniencing him, but that woman mocks everyone and everything openly, and Lanius never punishes her. Although recently, I believe I'm beginning to understand." Feng leaned in. "Tell me everything that you know."

Vulpes continued. "After Hoover Dam, Lanius and I did everything we could to keep the Legion intact. Despite our best efforts, a fifth of our number has left us in the months following that battle. I would seem that, regardless of Lanius's brutality, or my own cunning, the Legion had begun an irreversible decline. But then came the recent campaign, and her arrival." Vulpes shared a glance with his lieutenants before continuing. "When she had first arrived, most of the men were convinced that she would be confined to the Legate's bed until he tired of her, but instead, he locked her in the basement, and forbade anyone from speaking with her. As far as anyone could tell, no one had any contact with her, but when she was brought out, she could name soldiers she had never met, places around the camp she had never been taken to, and most importantly, before she had even arrived, _she knew you were coming_." Vulpes empathized. Feng's eyes narrowed. "Before she had been locked in the basement, she kept speaking about "Dragon men" and how they would keep the Bull from dying. She spoke of someone from an Empire across the sea would prevent the Legion from drowning under the momentum of the past. Furthermore, she claims she can see the future, as well," Vulpes continued.

Feng thought about what he had just been told. "And how can you say that I am the "Dragon Man" of which she speaks?" he asked. "Other then the notion that she told Lanius she was aware that a man from across the Pacific was going to arrive, and that through his actions the Legion would gain the power necessary to defeat even the strongholds of Texas? Mostly, we're just guessing," Vulpes finished, coyly. Feng snarled. There was nothing wrong with eavesdropping in his mind, but there was something discomforting of being able do so without even making yourself present. "What do you know of her history?" Feng asked. "Only that she was the daughter of one of our many eastern challengers. At first we suspected that she was intending to take revenge, but apparently, she decided to throw her whole lot with the Legion. So far, Lanius trusts her council whole-heartedly," Vulpes explained. Feng thought for a moment. What must he have experienced that could cause him to place so much faith onto a demon? He then realized the irony of that question, making him chuckle.

"Something amusing?" Vulpes asked. "Nothing important. Anyway, we have business to discuss. My associates out West are fully prepared to move the necessary supplies through Mexico. Soon, the Legion will become the dominant, undisputed power in the Four States Commonwealth. Should you with to go east and go into Texas, or fight the Brotherhood in the north, it matters not to us. All I ask is that the nation of Mojave is left to my own machinations. Are these terms acceptable?" Feng asked. Vulpes glanced at his lieutenants, before looking Feng dead in the eyes. "Caesar's Legions accepts your offer, Lieutenant General Feng Jiasheng."

Boneyard Bus Station

The Boneyard, formerly known as Los Angeles, was largely an expansive, seemingly limitless stretch of skyscrapers. Despite being pulverized into near oblivion, the city was oddly left intact. After being nearly annihilated by several dozen bombs, the Boneyard was slowly repopulated, mostly by the rotten underbelly of the Wasteland. Raiders, thugs, gangs, and slavers had happily set up shop in the husk of a city. Then the NCR came knocking, and the Rangers swept through like soapy hot water on a dirty rag. Though the biggest of the groups were ejected from the city, many of the worst merely got smarter at hiding. An abandoned bus station on the city limits proved to be a valuable hiding place for people who didn't want to attract lawful attention. The more sordid the business the better.

Epps strutted past the cages. Merchandise. Some without parents, some forcibly taken from their families, others who were from families who made some poor decisions, and others stupid enough to believe in a pretty but complete stranger. Epps ran his baton along the bars, causing the scared, shivering occupants to flinch back. "Come on, kiddies, today's a lucky day! Some of you are going to get to eat! Can I get some "Thank you, Mister Epps?" from you people!" he called out. There were some murmurs, some sniffling, but most were quiet. "Oh, I'm sorry, I mustn't have heard. I didn't get my thank you," he started to growl. No answer. Immediately, he slammed his baton against one of the cage doors. "DO ANY OF YOU LITTLE SHITS HEAR ME?!" he bellowed. All the children quivered in their cages. Enraged, he clenched the baton in his mouth, tore open the locks of one, dragged out one of the little girls, and activated the electrical prod on his baton.

"Yo, Epps, where the hell are you?" A voice called out. Epps turned to see a large, black man just trotting into his business like he was some hot shit. Oh wait, he knew him, nevermind. "The fuck you want, Jarrod? I don't owe you any more money," he replied, turning his attention back to the girl. "Nothing about that, I'm here to hire you for a job," Jarrod explained. Epps could barely suppress a laugh. "And here was me thinking the Van Graff's had integrity. They actually sent one of their own to deal with me?" he giggled. "The family, no. It's a personal matter, Epps. I need muscle," the thug stated. "Muscle? Haven't you heard?" he snarled, turning his body. His coat had an empty sleeve on the left side.

"Fucking Oregon, man. That "Scarecrow" asshole had me zeroed in. If it weren't for my brother, I'd've died. Still, my sharp shooting days are over, you monkey! Why do you think I'm just fucking around with these brats?!" he yelled, snapping the tip of his baton against the girl's head. "Epps, I… I know people. I can get someone to replace your arm, but in exchange, I need you to help me on an errand," Jarrod explained. "Oh, you can force some Follower goody-goody to give me a new arm, that's rich," he snarled. "I have connections, too, Epps, but if you aren't going to help me, I guess I could just get Francis to help!" Jarrod screamed in frustration. "Wait… Francis… heh heh, you must be really up the creek!" he exclaimed.

"Look, I can see you're busy! I don't know or really care what you are trying to do, but if you'd rather sell kids to… whatever… fine, I'll just look somewhere else," Jarrod resignedly said, turning to leave. "Now, just hold on, friend-o, I never said I wouldn't help you. It's just, well, how close are you with this doctor?" he asked. "I don't know, he doesn't ask questions, he's good enough with cybernetics, and he's too old to really give a fuck. Good enough?" Jarrod asked. Epps thought about it, then shrugged. "Oh, what the hell, the clients will be here soon enough. Once I get these shits off-loaded, I'll meet with you soon enough," he said, casually. Jarrod looked at the shivering little girl, then the dozen odd kids still in those animal cages. Maybe I could just waste him here and now, he thought. Forget it, he told himself, you're only obligation is to look after #1, he told himself. "Fine, I'll keep you to it. You don't show up by the end of the day, I'm leaving your ass behind," he said as he turned around.

As he left the bus-station, Diego approached him. "You still serious about this, Boss?" he asked. "No, I was just making a social call. If you don't want to help, leave me the fuck alone," he snarled. "Fine, if you still want to do this, I found someone who you may be interested in," he groaned. As he finished, a large, burly super mutant approached him. "Heh heh heh heh, if it ain't Jarry. How's it hanging Jarry? You don't visit no more?" he laughed, licking his lips. Jarrod closed his eyes in resignation. "Hello… Francis."

Along I-15

Arcade and Veronica had slipped past the Mojave Outpost nearly undetected. The Followers weren't really on great terms with the NCR, the Brotherhood even moreso, and particularly not members of the "Inner Circle" of the Perez administration. Arcade couldn't help but chuckle at it. Administration? The man had been winging it since day one. If he hadn't stumbled onto the Big MT, the Freeside Followers would have been overwhelmed. Even now, he was curious about whether or not New Vegas was better off independent. Lars, though a good guy ultimately, preferred his problems straightforward and final. Domestic issues, jobs that could never be completed, frustrated and bored him. Thankfully, the King and Julie Farkas were more then willing to pick up whatever slack Lars left off. Still, Dayglow could use the material he found, and it could save a lot of lives could be saved.

As they walked through the valley, he and Veronica had a back and forth about the Desert Rangers. "I was stuck in the hole when the Rangers had their last hay day, and everything I know about them is mostly second-hand. That's why I'm asking what you think," Veronica said. "And I'm telling you, I only know what I've been told since I arrived at New Vegas after they signed the treaty. I've never had the distinction of witnessing them first hand. All I know is that if the NCR hadn't arrived, the Legion would have overrun the Mojave, regardless of how many the Desert Rangers could take out," Arcade explained. "I mean, historically, the Brotherhood and Desert Rangers fought with each other against the super mutants, right? So, technically, they're allies, right?" Veronica asked, hopefully. "Look, I get what you're saying, but times change. We're both cool with Marcus, right? And a forty years ago, we'd be trying to kill each other, probably," Arcade confessed. "Oh yes, I can imagine it, both of us in power armor getting into a slap-fight. Terrifying, isn't it?" Veronica giggled a bit.

Arcade smiled. As much as she could joke, it didn't cover up the fact that she was still worried about her family back home. Superior equipment aside, it probably wouldn't take too long for the Desert Rangers to scrounge up some weaponry that could break Power armor. Granted, for a war to erupt between the two groups, the situation would have to deteriorate very quickly, but neither faction was known for their level-headedness. Still, it would take more then some harassed caravans to cause shots to fire. Then again, history proved that some wars started over less.

"So, how long has it been since you've been in California?" Veronica asked. "Well… all I can say is I haven't really looked back since Navarro. I was barely ten when it fell. Most of the time, I'm with the Followers in Vegas when I'm not, you know, helping Lars assassinate a dictator," he explained, sheepishly. "Oh come on, you were awesome during that. Hell, we all were," Veronica beamed. One of the gang's proudest moments had been the death of Caesar. Thanks to an elaborate plan, Caesar had died before anyone was able to suspect the courier's involvement. No one had suspected that someone Caesar had considered to be an ally would be so brazen to pull of what the courier evidently did.

"Alright, Ms. Santangelo, how long has it been since you've been in Cali?" Arcade asked. Veronica winced. "I… haven't been here since after the Brotherhood got kicked out. I guess without the Enclave's asses to kick, the NCR and Brotherhood stopped bothering to play nice," Veronica said. "Yeah, sorry we couldn't be harder to kill," Arcade replied, sarcastically. "Oh stop, you know I didn't mean it like that," Veronica responded, dismissively. Arcade just snorted, and was about to reply again when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. "Veronica, don't move," he whispered, quietly. "What now?" she asked. "Up on the canyon, do you see it?" Veronica spun her head towards where Arcade had been indicating. "I don't see anything. What do you even…?" "Nevermind, it's gone now," Arcade said, exhaling.

Veronica spun back around to her traveling companion. "Just, what the hell was that about?" she demanded to know. "Sorry, it's just… I thought I saw something in a hood watching us," Arcade replied. "Something… in a hood? What, do you have something against people wearing hoods, Arcade?" she accused him. "No I… no, Ronnie, it wasn't the hood. It was that it was way taller then any human should be. Or mutant, for that matter," he explained. "What, like sequoia tall, or Lucky 38 tall?" Veronica asked. "It wasn't that tall! It was as tall as a- you know what, I was probably just seeing things," he admitted, taking off his glasses to clean them. "Fine, whatever. You know, if I get nightmares, you are on snuggle duty, Arcade," Veronica threatened. Arcade held up his hands in mock defeat, and with that, the three continued on their journey west.

Shi-town

Ziyi walked through the street as quietly as she could. Not wishing to attract attention to herself, she had to measure her little excursions judiciously. Madame Zhang, for all her wonderful qualities, did not empathize well with others. As she navigated the alleyways, she kept her eyes pealed. Not because of anyone who could intentionally do her harm, but because she really didn't want news of her little visits to get back to the Steel Palace.

Arriving at one of many intact brownstones, she knocked on the door. A woman, somewhat modestly dressed, opened the door. "Ziyi, you're back! Come, come inside! Kayleigh isn't home yet, but she'll be here soon," she greeted. "Thank you, Kirsten," Ziyi answered. After being invited inside, Ziyi looked around at the cozy home. For an ancient building from a dead era, it was clear that the occupants worked hard to ensure this building was a home. The woman escorted Ziyi to the right, leading her to the kitchen. "I just finished brewing a pot. Would you like some?" the woman asked. "I'd love some," Ziyi said, helping herself to a pot. Sitting down at the table, the two friends began to chat.

Kirsten had arrived at Shi-town nearly ten years ago from Utah. Formerly a native of New Canaan, she had fled after the White Legs sacked the town. Since coming to Shi-town, she made her living as a vendor, living out of the brownstone with her friend and partner, Kayleigh. Kayleigh was also a refugee from Utah, being a member of the Crazy Horn tribe, which had been nearly wiped out to the last man, woman, and child. After meeting up, both girls agreed to run as far from the White Legs as they could. Wishing to separate themselves from their pasts, they created new identities for themselves. Shortly after Ziyi arrived, she ran into Kayleigh on one of her nightly excursions, and became a close friend of the housemates.

"Mhmm, good coffee," Kirsten said, blowing the steam from the cup. "It was almost fresh, where did you find this?" Ziyi asked. Kirsten's eyes widened. "L-Lady Ziyi, I can explain, just please, don't hurt me…" but both women collapsed into giggling fits. "You know, that really is not a fair caricature," Ziyi said, wiping some coffee foam from her mouth. "You'd be surprised by some of the things I hear around town. Madame Zhang isn't really good at making friends," Kirsten explained, sadly. "Why can't they just understand, she's trying to do her best?" Ziyi begged. "They think that there's a better deal out there, but they're too scared to look, so they just stick around and complain about the current leadership. I don't mind, personally," Kirsten added, holding her hands up.

Ziyi smiled a little. When before Feng arrived, San Francisco was a nearly lawless city, with the NCR enacting little authority over the area. After her father arrived, order was enacted, and the town began to flourish under his watchful eyes, in spite of several trading restrictions. Despite being a member state of the NCR, it was the only city on the west coast that could keep the Republic at arms length, which appealed to many of the disillusioned who nonetheless had enough caps to settle there. For the other unlucky settlers, many would be pushed to the borders, where raids were frequent and common. Some of the most desperate abandoned the Republic entirely, settling around New Vegas and hoping that the infant nation would be enough to care for them.

"So, how is your business?" Ziyi asked. Kirsten sighed. "Slower then usual. There are far to many other competitors at the bazaar. I don't get how people can just pass up food?" Ziyi looked around the brownstone. "Still, you have a nice place to live. It's cozy," she admitted. "But expensive. We've both been working hard just to keep the rent paid and food on the table. Even though I do not approve of her… "solution," the money comes in handy," she confessed. Ziyi giggled. Her first encounter with Kayleigh was as a ring girl at the Grand Ring. She was the only thing Ziyi had paid attention to, and not just because of the excess of blood.

"Where is she now?" Ziyi asked. Kirsten looked away nervously. "She's… "auditioning" just a few blocks away," she murmured. "I mean, I know she just wants to give us a little more leeway, financially, but my old customs haven't died quite so easily. I took me forever to start with caffeine," she concluded, shaking her mug. Ziyi placated her friend. "I know, but listen, sometimes, the only thing you can do is prop yourself up to anyone willing to lean on you. That's what my father always told me when I was little," she responded. Kirsten cracked a smile. "Thanks, Ziyi. You've been kind to us. I hope Zhang is understanding about all your time visiting here," she said. Ziyi started to blush. "Well, she doesn't… exactly… know," Ziyi admitted. The ex-Mormon gasped, "Ziyi, what if she takes your visits the wrong way. I don't know anything about what goes on in there, but if Zhang thought you were doing something like…" she started. "Kirsten, please. I know my friend. We played together since we were kids. I know her, and she knows me. I'm not worried at all."

Along I-5

It was late, the moon was high, and the coffee was almost gone. Cass and her group had decided to scout around for a little, leaving their "guests" by the camp. Natty sat quietly by the fire, staring into it while Perez downed another bottle of… whatever. The caravan had, honestly, gone on better then she had expected. She got along well with Boone, was on decent terms with Raul and Cass, and was beginning to get comfortable around Lily. The only member of the group that she did not have a full conversation with was Lars, which suited her just fine.

Lars was arrogant, to put it generously. A wise ass who had gotten used to having things go his way. Cass was the only one willing to call him on his shit, while the other three were content to just hang back and wait until whatever tangent he was dealing with was over. As for Natalie, orders were orders, an escort was an escort, and a mission was a mission. She was a professional, and the very least she could do was keep her feelings to herself.

Apart from the game, the courier had kept to himself, mostly, when he wasn't chatting with the other members of the group. Maybe he had gotten the hint that Natalie really didn't want anything to do with him? As she was about to take a sip from the tin cup, a loud belch on the other side of the campfire disrupted what had been a serene night. Lars tossed the bottle he had finished behind him, the glass shattering in the darkness. Wiping the bits of iguana off his scruff, Lars looked at the rookie Ranger, and looked like he wanted to ask something. Whatever he wants to know, Natty, just lie back and think of Modoc, she told herself.

"Urp… so… you Rangers still functional?" Lars suddenly asked her. Natalie looked up at him, seeing he was fighting back a drunken giggle. "What the hell kind of question is that?" Natalie shot back. "It's just, you know, you guys lost the war and all… has anyone given you any shit about it?" Lars asked. That was it. "You know what… no, most people haven't. You know why?" she said, slowly. Vega shrugged. "Because we didn't lose the Mojave," she answered. Lars barked out a laugh. "Really? Cuz I was there a while ago, and I don't remember seeing any two-headed bears on a flagpole," he smirked. Fighting to keep her temper, Natalie continued, "We didn't lose. We were betrayed." Immediately, the stupid, loopy smile on the Perez's face vanished.

"We lost because of a spiteful, drunken, leech of a mercenary lucked out, made himself important, and screwed over the only people capable of making a decent, stable society out of that pit!" she growled. "Who, House?" the courier asked. It was then that any pretensions of professionalism had been thrown into the Pacific. "ASSHOLE! Half my family died trying to save that fucking city from those slaving rapists!" she screamed. "Then it seems like I succeeded where they failed," Lars stated simply, looking mirthlessly into her eyes. Losing her temper, she flung her tin cup straight at his head. Lars caught it, though the contents that hadn't spilled out landed squarely on his pants.

"SSssshhit," he winced, standing up and waving away the scalding heat. Natalie stood up as well, walking up to him and pushing him in the chest. "You arrogant son of a Floater, how many good men and women had to die for you to piss away what they worked to hard to protect?" she screamed, pulling her arm back. Before she realized what she was doing, she swung. For half an instant, she wondered what Murdock would say if he saw her conduct. Another half an instant later, she realized that right now, she didn't give a shit. When she came back to her senses, she realized that her fist had landed right in the middle of Lars's palm.

Natalie was shocked. A moment ago, the man was drunk off his ass, but now he had perfectly blocked a perfect right cross? He flung her fist out of his grip. "So… you want to know why I didn't let the NCR call the shots after the battle?" Lars asked. Natalie just glared at him. "Tell you what, lets make a deal. We fight. No weapons, no-holds-barred, and it doesn't stop until one of us says "I quit." I win, I tell you why I kicked the NCR out. You win… and I immediately go to the capital and surrender New Vegas. Sound fair?" he asked. Natalie was stunned. "You…you can't be serious," she muttered. "Maybe. Only one way to find out!" he said, dumping his holorifle and putting up his fists. Natalie responded in kind. Natalie took inventory over everything Hanlon had taught her. I don't care what this guy's reputation is, I won't lose like this. Tobey, Pops, everyone is riding on this, she told herself. "Let's do this," she snarled.

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Lars "Vega" Perez: The man who conquered New Vegas, the incumbent Governor has experienced a meteoric rise in both authority and influence. Formerly a courier, Perez was brought into the Mojave Conflict by the Old-World business tycoon, Robert House. During the last year of the campaign, word of Perez's exploits drew the attention of all three factions, each one courting him as if he was the key to their victory. All factions of the conflict, however, learned the hard way about how deep Mr. Perez's ambition ran.

In addition to being a shrewd negotiator, Lars Perez's martial prowess is undeniable. Outclassing the finest soldiers of either the NCR or the Legion, he is purported to excel in close-quarters combat, small arms, and heavy explosives. It is unknown how or where he learned these skills, but it has been remarked that he is in some ways the continuation of the legacy left behind by the individuals history only knows as the Vault Dweller and the Chosen One. If one finds themselves about to face him in combat, the staff at the West Coast Survival Guide can only offer this; farewell, friend.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Along I-5

Natalie barely avoided Lars's hook, managing to prevent herself from stumbling back. They had danced around the campfire, managing to evade the strikes they traded with each other. Natty's mind was racing, barely keeping up with the exchanges with Perez. Is he serious, she asked herself? No, he has to be full of it, there's no way he'd give up so much over a little fight like this. She threw a straight that brushed right past Perez's ear, throwing him off balance. Excited, Natalie laid into him, forcing him to defend himself.

Blow after blow landed against his defense. When the fight had started, Natalie told herself that it was critical that she win the fight by a knockout. Regardless of how Lars dictated the fight was supposed to end, she had to prove beyond any doubt that she was stronger then him. The idea that an alcoholic could beat her was nothing more then a sick joke. This is for all the Rangers who won't die in vain!

I'm going to do it, she told herself. I'm actually going to tan the hide of the man who cost us everything. She could only imagine the look on President Kimball's face when she dragged his sorry ass into the NCR Capitol. It would be the greatest victory a single Ranger had ever achieved. An entire country, won in a fistfight! The awards she would win, the stories they would tell, she could already see it! As she drew back her arm for the finishing blow, she noticed that Lars had broken his guard. Smiling deviously, Natalie threw a blow with her entire weight behind it, while Lars had done the same. Knowing she was faster, Natalie could only watch helplessly as Lars knocked her arm off course with his elbow.

Some distance away

Cass, Raul, and Lily were chatting with each other. In the months that had followed the Battle of Hoover Dam, Cass had learned to trust the instincts of her two senior members. The two had lifetimes of experience on her, and she was superior to them only in rank. As such, she came to rely on them for advice when it came to things that bothered her. Like the package they were carrying.

"I know the policy. "Stuff that was unwrapped stays unwrapped," but I'm just saying, it kinda bothers me about the secrecy. I mean, most of our clients are pretty open, and I'm not particularly bothered by our deliveries, but something about this job just doesn't sit right," she explained to the other two. "Boss, speaking as someone who enjoyed peeking at Christmas presents, remember that professionalism is our main selling point," Raul reminded. "I know that, Raul, but the guy at the office just… didn't really sit well with me. Personally, this stinks like another Mordino job. Speaking of, your arm still feels OK, Lily?" Cass asked. "Oh, its nothing to worry about, Ms. Cassidy. Nothing a stimpack and some bandages couldn't heal up. Besides, I showed those little punks why no one messes with Granny," Lily responded. Cass laughed. "Well, its good you guys know how to fight. Hey, any of you been as far west as San Francisco?" Cass asked.

Once upon a time, Cass traveled all throughout the West Coast. Before the borders of the NCR were somewhat coherent and stable, a caravan needed to be able to handle anything that could be thrown at it. If one couldn't take down a super mutant, you had no business hauling cargo. Cass had been able to survive after going as far north as Washington, as far east as Montana, and as far south as the tip of Baja. She had been to San Francisco twice; once as a teenager before the name change, and once a few years ago with her old crew. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but something about that city made her nervous. Not helping matters was that neither Lily or Raul had ever been there, so she couldn't bounce off any opinions against them.

"Alright then, so where is Boone?" she asked her compatriots. Before they could respond, the man in question came bounding up to them. "We need to get back to camp. NOW!" he spoke, curtly. Trusting their rookie member, the four followed their sniper back to base. When they arrived, Natalie was in a knee bar, locked in tightly by Lars. Every bit of struggle she put forward furthered her agony. "C'mon, Ranger, you don't want to walk on a dislocated knee, you know the magic words," he taunted. "Eat…shit," Natalie gritted. "Tried it. Overrated," Perez answered. He was about to snap something when a shill whistle interrupted his train of thought.

"Perez, I don't think that the NCR will appreciate you breaking the leg of your official escort," Cass offered. "Don't care, we made a bet," Lars said, continuing to apply the hold. Cass walked up to the two combatants, looking over their predicament. "Natalie, you're not going to win. Just surrender," Cass said, scarcely concealing her boredom. "No! I can still beat him!" the Ranger screamed. Cass shrugged, "Alright," and sat down nearby to continue watching the show. Boone looked from his boss to Lars, seeing that his grip right now was way too tight for her to escape. First Recon wasn't renowned for their close-quarters prowess, but it was obvious to anyone who had brawled enough that Lars had already won the fight.

Natalie was in hell. There was no other way to describe it. Her leg muscles were burning, her options were exhausted, and she was faced with two unacceptable outcomes. A broken knee would sideline her indefinitely, and in the middle of nowhere, to say it would be disastrous would understate it. But losing… wonderful. Her first real fight and the result…

"I quit." The courier looked over his shoulder to the rookie soldier. "Pardon?" he asked. "I QUIT, I QUIT, YOU WIN!" she screamed. Lars released her, causing her to collapse in exhaustion. Boone approached her, extending his hand. "You OK?" he asked. Swatting the hand away, Natalie pulled herself to her feet, before faltering back to the ground. "And that is why the NCR lost," Lars decided to add, smugly.

"What… the hell… does a fistfight have to do with anything," Natalie snarled. Dusting off his palms, Lars looked back down to the woman. "You weren't thinking about that during half the fight, weren't you? You were thinking about dragging my proverbial broken ass all the way to the capital, huh? You counted your deathclaws before they hatched, instead of focusing on the problem in front of you. The NCR fucked around for five entire years, but the only progress they made was the progress I handed to them. The NCR was so abysmal at handling its own situations, that I realized giving them Vegas would be a colossal mistake," he half-lectured. Natalie continued glaring up at him. "So, if there's someone you want to be pissed at, blame your leaders for throwing your family's lives away while arbitrarily deciding to put all their faith in a rogue element," he smugly concluded, before sauntering off towards who knows where.

Natalie was about to follow him when Cass blocked her path. "Whatever issues you had with each other is from this point forward settled. Another brawl, and I will personally expulse you from the caravan. With a shotgun," she threatened. Natalie stared at her with disbelief. "It… it was his damn idea in the first place," she protested. "I figured. Next time he tries to bait you, come to me, and I'll put a stop to it," Cass replied, before walking off to tear Perez a new one. Boone reluctantly approached Natalie, offering a hand on her shoulder. "Not many people are brave enough to take on Lars one on one. Regardless of what anyone says, I was impressed," he offered. Natalie roughly shoved the sniper off. "If your trying to make me feel better, patronize someone else," she muttered. Boone shook his head. "I'm serious. I've never seen anyone take him in hand to hand. I'm starting to think that no one really can."

Shi-town

After being re-adjusted, the Shi's numbers had exploded after winning the turf war. No longer limited to descendants from the crew, the Shi accepted anyone who could handle their recruitment and training. With resources that could rival the Brotherhood of Steel, the organization ruled Shi-town with an iron fist. Though none opposed them, there were certain jobs that no one envied. Opinions varied, but the one constant was the single most feared task anyone could have the misfortune of having. _Sparring partner._

The three members still standing surrounded Zhang on three corners. Originally, they began the spar with seven. All of varying builds, temperaments, and sizes, but every sparing partner had some experience with hand to hand combat. Supposedly, Zhang thought to herself. Maybe her reputation was getting ahead of itself, or maybe she had already disposed of this country's greatest fighters. Either option was acceptable. Wearing a simple gi, Zhang beckoned the men to attack her. Each refused. Annoyed, Zhang indicated the rack of weapons nearby. Hopefully, they would think that alone would give them an advantage. The lies people told themselves.

Outside the sparring chamber, in the lobby, Ziyi had just returned from her visit. It was good to speak with her friends outside the Palace. Putting her ear against the wall of the dojo, she could hear Zhang getting to work on the poor fools selected to keep her sharp. Giggling, Ziyi took her seat at the desk, and proceeded to deal with the issues of the day. Taxes, loans, acquisitions, the usual. As she began processing it, she heard something slam into the wall behind her. Not ten seconds later, Zhang exited the dojo, not even sweating.

Immediately, Ziyi turned to her master. "From what I heard, you've had an excellent practice," she complimented. Zhang turned swiftly towards her friend. "Where were you earlier?" she demanded to know. "I… I was out checking of our businesses throughout the city," Ziyi explained. "Without bodyguards? Which businesses?" Zhang demanded. Ziyi started to get nervous. "I… did not believe it necessary to bring with me bodyguards on such an unimportant errand. As for businesses, I inspected the loading docks, eastern bank, and…" she started. Zhang closed in on her. "Do you wish to lie to me, Feng Ziyi?" Ziyi began to feel a chill throughout her body. "I… I merely wished to get some fresh air. I do not like being stuck inside all day," she half-admitted. Zhang looked at her for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she broke her gaze and walked to the elevator. "Whatever your new hobbies, they are of no concern to me," Zhang concluded. She entered the elevator without another word. When the doors shut, Ziyi couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief.

Inside the elevator, Zhang went over the itinerary for the day. Her researchers assured her that they were coming ever closer to effectively replicate energy weaponry. Not having to deal with the Gun Runners would be a blessing, as she didn't want to have to alert the NCR with large purchases of wares from the Boneyard. Power armor, well, her scientists could only do so much. Even though they've had nearly two centuries to come up with something, she sneered internally. Her alliances with the families of New Reno were beginning to ripen as well, which would be useful for her plan to come to fruition. Finally, the NCR and Legion were almost right where she wanted them. Soon, a new Cold War would be introduced to the world, allowing her to maneuver unheeded by the two superpowers.

Her stop was at the penultimate floor of the Palace, the third. Upon exiting, she saw that her steam bath had already been drawn, the mist beginning to settle. Taking in the aroma, Zhang disrobed, and then made herself comfortable in the bath. She didn't need to take one, the workout wasn't nearly challenging enough for that, but this was her favorite part of a boring day, and she wouldn't trade it for the world. As she drifted off to her own thoughts, she began to dream. She dreamed of a nobler time, of a time when countless people worked together to achieve a goal. She dreamed of a time where people learned from the old, and people never forgot their pasts or duties. She dreamed of a time when atomic fire did not dictate the fate of the world.

As she dozed off, Ziyi went over her paperwork. Most days, her workload was innocuous and somewhat guilt free. Today's business, however, was no such luck. Zhang's orders were to sift through the dossiers and files of the many mercenaries and hired guns of the NCR. During the Mojave Campaign, many guns-for-hire ended up exploiting the recent vacuum left by the NCR military and ended up working with various factions and interests. Some worked security, others attacked competitors, and some worked independently. With the entire military returned, however, the relative half-decade free-for-all for these groups had come to an end. For her own reasons, Zhang had handed Ziyi her pocketbook, telling her to bolster the payroll while much of her security had left on an "errand."

Looking through the dossiers, Ziyi was surprised to see a name she had actually been familiar with. In the pre-War era, the Japanese Yakuza had several holdings in the western end of the United States. Miraculously (and perhaps to Madame Zhang's personal disappointment) some of the group survived the Great War. Recently, they had taken up stationing themselves around the city of New Reno, although they had never managed to enter the city like the major crime families. According to the file, in an era of laser weaponry and power armor, the Yakuza had insisted on holding onto and using their traditional weaponry, like swords and throwing knives. Somehow, their dedication had allowed them to survive, though they lived as little more then raiders for nearly two centuries. Maybe, Ziyi thought, the promise of a home was all that was needed to bring forth the necessary loyalty Zhang desired.

Along I-15

Daybreak was fast approaching for the small camp. Arcade stood watch as Veronica tried fitfully to doze off by the campfire. "Just… how far are we from Dayglow, anyway?" she yawned. "Probably a day or two… maybe," Arcade suggested. Veronica sat up. "Wait, what the heck is "maybe?" You've been to Dayglow before, right?" she asked. "Yeah, about ten years ago," Arcade replied. "And you're sure you know the way?" she asked. "I… yeah, I mean… look a the road…" Arcade muttered. The road in front of them was nearly scorched into the sands, making it hard to read where the route was supposed to go. Veronica rolled her eyes. "Wonderful, we're lost." "We aren't lost, Veronica, we're just… in need of some course correction," Arcade offered. "Couldn't we just get your Enclave friends to give us a lift?" Veronica asked. "I don't think anyone in the NCR will appreciate seeing a Vertibird," confessed Arcade.

Veronica leaned back against the ground, looking up at the stars. No need to panic, she told herself. They just passed a settlement a few miles back, and if they got desperate enough, they could always head back and ask for directions. Still, it would take days to reach the city, which was further complicated by the need to find a safe place to lay their heads every night. It wasn't unheard of to have a lax awareness of ones surrounding to result in the death of the entire slumber party. Just another reason they should have brought Rex, maybe?

"Alright, tell you what, I stay awake till midnight, then you take over until sun up, then we hit the road at dawn. Sound fair?" Arcade asked. "Fine, whatever," Veronica muttered. Arcade sighed, and promptly headed out to scout around. Drawing his pistol, he looked around until he settled on a rock mound as a good place to stand guard. Climbing to the top, he made himself comfortable, looking westward. The highway next to them was littered with the debris of old world automobiles, the desert before him spread out for miles and miles.

As any soldier could probably tell you, guard duty is boring, and Arcades mind couldn't help but wander. He began to dwell on the colleagues he hadn't seen in a decade. One of the great things about the Followers was how they could accept nearly anyone in their ranks, regardless of past history or backgrounds. Skill and eagerness to learn were the apex qualities that the leadership desired. It was far from perfect (it helped create Mr. Sallow's career, after all) but it was precisely what he needed. Come to think of it, maybe taking Veronica farther away from her old family would do her some good. Giving her a home the Brotherhood couldn't raze would prob-*BANG*

Arcade fell back, tumbling down the pile and landing on his face. Seething in pain, he grasped the side of his shoulder. .22-caliber bullet, would have messed him up if it hit the right place. "Are you alright?" a voice spoke close by. "Peachy, suit. Where the hell did that come from?" winced Arcade. Hopefully, the Followers wouldn't mind the Stealth Suit being a little marked up when he made his way back to Dayglow. Hopefully, he wouldn't need his cargo on the return trip. What are you doing Arcade, you've just been shot, FOCUS, he screamed at himself.

Dragging his sore body to the side of the rock pile, he glanced out behind the pile to see three figures advancing on their position. Though it was dark, he could clearly see that one of them had a smoking rifle, and none of them looked friendly enough to pass it off as an accident. Dragging himself to his feet, he ran back to Veronica. "Ver…Veronica, we're under attack!" he screamed, before realizing that someone had already beaten him to camp.

A raider, portly and surly, had already gotten to Veronica, training his energy rifle on the back of her head. "Don't come any closer, or I turn the girl into vapor!" he screamed, wild-eyed like an animal. Arcade reluctantly surrendered, allowing the other three members of his group to catch up. "OK Glover, so what now?" one of the thugs groused. "How much stuff do you think these chumps are carrying?" Another one asked. "J-just shut up! Look, just… just take the weapons and tie em up," the one they called Glover ordered. "C'mon boss, couldn't we just waste these fools right here and now?" the raider with the rifle yawned. Glover promptly leveled his rifle towards the raider. "What the hell, man? It was just a suggestion!" he whined.

The raiders promptly stripped Arcade of his pistol and Veronica of her power glove, and the one named Glover promptly grabbed some rope and thoroughly bound their hands and feet together. Glover then promptly ordered his men towards the rock pile, taking up positions around the obstruction.

"What the hell just happened," Veronica whispered, her face brushing against the dirt. "I… I have no idea," Arcade confessed. "If they were going to kill us, why the hell didn't they just put bullets in us before they robbed us? What's with the rope?" Veronica demanded to know. "I told you, I have no clue," Arcade spat, allowing his annoyance to bubble to the surface. "What the… OK, look, I'm sorry, but right now, I'm scared," Veronica admitted. Arcade, still beating himself up for allowing these clowns to get the jump on them, tried to comfort his younger friend. "Look, I don't know what they're planning, but for some reason, they want us alive. Maybe its because…" Veronica looked at her friend. "Because what?" "It's just… it almost seems like they're using us as bait."

At the rock pile, the three raiders grumbled over the paranoia of their new boss. A few days ago, this guy came into their camp screaming about a demon, and the only reason they didn't waste him then and there was the fact that he had an energy weapon. Apparently, the guy was part of a larger group, but for reasons he never explained, the group separated from this "Glover's" group, and apparently he got them all killed. The only reason they decided to follow this asshole was because he promised them some cushy positions in New Reno if they helped him on a particular errand. As for the man himself, he was just trying to blend into the rocks, staring into the darkness.

"Veronica, I've got an idea. Take this rock, and try to cut through the ropes." Veronica looked back at Arcade. "Are you crazy?" she asked. "Veronica, if they wanted us dead, we'd be dead. We cut the bindings, and immediately we both make a break for it," Arcade offered. "They've got snipers on us," hissed Veronica. "Maybe we can weave through the cars by the highway," Arcade suggested. Veronica sighed. "Look, just give me the damn rock."

Veronica made quick work of the binding on her hands, before passing the rock to Arcade. "Alright, so know I'll cut your leg bindings, and you do the same to me," Arcade ordered. As they cut themselves out of their bindings, the snipers on the hilltop made no movement. "Alright, they haven't started shooting yet. Arcade, on three. One… Two… Three!" As Arcade and Veronica tried to get up, the night air was filled with a horrifying scraping noise.

Glover lay transfixed by the noise, as did the hired guns hiding with him. Together, all six people watched as a figure immerged from the darkness. A huge cloaked figure entered the line of sight, dragging something behind it. The bait was too shocked at what they were looking at to scream or run. The figure dragged the object right past the two coming within fifty yards of the rock pile. Almost immediately, the creature grasped the object and started to slowly swing it. As Glover watched mystified by what he was witnessing, one of his raiders found his tongue. "That's… that's a car," he spat out. Sure enough, the cloaked creature was indeed swinging the wreckage of a car around and around, building up speed. By the time the thought crossed his mind, the creature had released the car, causing it to hurtle directly towards the rock pile. The derelict, atomic vehicle exploded nearly on impact, causing rocks and bodies alike to go flying.

For a few seconds, Glover had blacked out. Agonizing pain woke him up, particularly around his knee. Trying to lift his broken neck upwards, he realized that there was a leg laying right next to him. _His leg._ As he sat in bewilderment at his predicament, two clawed fingers plucked the limb right next to him off the ground. Bringing it to its nose, the creature sniffed the leg, before dropping it down its gullet. The creature then took notice of Glover himself. "Word of warning human; I don't want to be fed, I want to hunt," said the creature as he promptly picked up Glover, who could only shut his eyes and wait for the nightmare to end.

EXCERPT FROM SUN TZU'S ART OF WAR

"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."

**Don't be afraid to read & review!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Along I-15

As the cloaked creature gorged itself on the hapless corpses around it, Arcade and Veronica found themselves at an impasse. When this… whatever was done with the bodies, it would doubtlessly end up dealing with them. The thugs had confiscated their weapons, and it was doubtful that they were in any condition to ward off whatever that thing was. So it was decided that they would just cut their losses and duck into the road, using the car wrecks as cover. As they weaved through the wreckage, Veronica spared a glance at the hooded creature as it wolfed down one of the raider bodies. Though the hood was drawn, she could make out fangs.

As they hunched past the wrecks, Veronica gained on Arcade, whispering into his ear. "Arcade, where are we supposed to go? What is that thing going to do when he realizes we're gone?" Arcade had no answers, only continuing to weave through the cars. Just get out of here first, and then we can worry about getting back some weapons, he thought to himself. He glanced back to where the creature had been previously, only to see that it had seemingly vanished. "Veronica, stop! I… I think we're clear," Arcade reluctantly admitted. "Nuh-uh, no way, I'm going back to that settlement and waiting until morning!" Veronica said as she brusquely pushed past the doctor. Arcade, still winded a little from the bullet, had to pause briefly while he collected his breath.

He never really believed in luck. He was a man of science, and miracles could typically be boiled down to probability times happenstance. If Lars could walk off two bullets to the skull, then why couldn't they have some kind of abominable guardian angel? Still, his curious mind was still firing on all cylinders. What was that thing, and why did it ignore them and target the thugs? Looking back at it, it was apparent that whatever that thing was must have been the true target of that posse, and unfortunately for them, they allowed that thing to get the jump on them.

A raindrop disrupted his train of thought. Annoyed, Arcade reached up to wipe it away. When he pulled his hand back, he realized that the drop had left behind a red smear. After a moment, the dread began to sink in. Slowly, he turned around, looking up while coming face to "face" with the sole of a boot. The leg attached to the boot was emerging from the gap of the hood. Rearing its head back, the creature swallowed the leg entirely, before turning its attention back to the doctor. Futilely trying to run, Arcade couldn't help but brace himself for the inevitable impact as the creature slammed a blow against him, knocking him into the side of a car.

Wincing, Arcade's glasses were knocked off his face. Blurry from the loss and the pain, and disregarding the usually helpful chirps of the suit, he glanced up at the mound of burlap in front of him. Rising up, he could practically feel the hot breath wash over him. Snarling, the creature pulled back an arm, preparing to finish its prey before him. Arcade desperately tried to scramble back, but there was only so far he could go. "Hold it right there, asshole!" Veronica screamed. The creature turned to see Veronica, a couple dozen yards away, pointing the raider Gonzo's laser rifle right at it. "I don't know what you are or what you want, but my friend and me are leaving, so BACK OFF!" she snarled as she leveled the weapon against it. The creature just stared at her before turning its attention back to Arcade. "I'm warning you, buddy, I'm not bluffing!" Veronica barked again. The huge creature seemed to snort, and was about to strike down her friend when a sizzling flash struck it in the arm.

A howl of pain and rage broke the relative peace of the night. Arcade found his legs and broke into a sprint. Veronica, the rifle slung over her shoulder, rejoined her friend as quickly as she could, and together they bolted from the scene as quickly as possible. As they ran, Veronica stole another glance behind her. The burlap sleeve had been seared off, exposing a long, scaly arm with claws the size of machetes. The creature was nursing a burn mark, and for the first time, she could see the creature's face. Thanks to her adventures with Lars, she had witnessed this creature enough to come to an unmistakable conclusion. She had just shot a Deathclaw in the arm, and right now, it was a Deathclaw that was giving them the evil eye.

New Vegas Vault 21

Deputy Chief O'Harris sat at the café in the hotel, ordered some whiskey, and glanced at the clock. Around him was an assortment of tourists, mostly from back in the NCR. Brahmin barons, caravan bosses, professional gamblers, and the occasional New Reno mobster consisted of most of the usual clientele. It was pretty evident that he was somewhat underdressed, what with his dirty duster and muddy boots, but it wasn't like he gave a shit.

When he arrived at the outskirts of New Vegas, he had to cut through the district known as Freeside. Originally a section of the city that Mr. House had no interest in running, a gang calling themselves the Kings took over. After proving themselves to be surprisingly capable administrators, Lars offered to make the gang part of his new government. Recently, the Kings were serving as officers of the peace on the outskirts of the city, protecting the citizens from violent junkies or vagrants. Their leader, THE King, was serving as (ugh) "New Vegas Diplomat-at-Large."

O'Harris was an older man, well in his fifties. Before the Unification Treaty, he and the rest of the Rangers found themselves in many, many skirmishes with the various tribals of the wastes. He remembered when the Kings wore gecko skins and threw spears, but now they worshiped some kind of old world fellow by dressing in his honor. Still, considering how the other three families tended to act, the Kings were the least insufferable by a significant margin.

"Hey, is there anything I can get you?" a perky blond in a Vault jumpsuit asked. "Oh, nah. I'm just here for a meeting," he replied off handedly. The woman's eyes widened. "Wait, your one of… oh, now I remember, I was supposed to give you a message from the King." Gerald looked at the woman. "What happened?" The woman shook her head. "Nothing, its just… well, the Followers got wind of the meeting and also want participate, as well," she explained. "Why do the Followers care about our business?" Gerald asked. "I'll happily explain, Deputy Chief," another voice called out. Gerald and the blonde both turned to see a mohawked doctor approach the table. Thanking the girl named Sarah, the doctor joined the Ranger at the booth.

"Mr. O'Harris, was it? My name is Julie Farkas, of the Mojave Followers of the Apocalypse. I just heard that the Desert Rangers had re-entered the area, and I just wanted to speak with you about some concerns," she began. O'Harris was a fighter, not a diplomat, but he figured he could humor her for the time being until the King arrived. "All right, go ahead," he obliged. "I've heard rumors that your organization is currently occupying NCRCF, correct? If that is true, then that would put your organization on a collision course…" "With the Brotherhood of Steel," Gerald interrupted. The diner suddenly became silent. A few tourists were brave enough to glance towards the two. "Keep your voice down. The… "Our friends" aren't exactly popular on the Strip. Or anywhere, really," Julie whispered. Gerald acquiesced. "Fine, we're fixing to go confront the Brotherhood, what of it?" he whispered.

"Its just… look, a lot of people are ecstatic that the Desert Rangers are back. A lot of people don't really trust the Securitrons to look after them, and the Three Families stop being influential the further away from the city you get. Most people north of Vegas are thrilled your back," Julie explained. Gerald smiled fondly, thinking back to the various settlements and friendly tribes just past the mountains. Good people. "So, with that in mind, I was wondering about how exactly you were going to approach the "Brotherhood" issue?" the doctor asked. "May I ask why a Follower has stake in whatever the Brotherhood or Desert Rangers are planning?" O'Harris countered. Dr. Farkas sighed before answering, "I'm a humanitarian, I do my best to look after everyone and anyone, regardless of whatever side they take in whatever conflict. Sometimes it's easier then other times. For example, for obvious reasons, we refused to assist Caesar's Legion, the Fiends, or the Great Khans due to irreconcilable differences." "Irreconcilable differences meaning slavers, junkies, and junkie-makers" O'Harris interrupted. Not amused, Julie continued, "Aside from those particular organizations, we do our best to spread aid to all those in need, and generally we try to avoid picking sides. Which is why what I'm about to tell you is just between you, your chief, and me." Dr. Farkas leaned in, keeping her voice at a whisper. "If the Desert Rangers go to war, the Followers of the Apocalypse will pledge you their support."

O'Harris was stunned. The Followers of the Apocalypse were the biggest pacifists on the west coast. For nearly two centuries, they practiced non-violence to its most drastic level. They believed in self-defense, sure, but they had never gotten involved in any war the NCR fought since its inception. To throw that away now, well, something had to have happened.

"What happened?" O'Harris asked. Julie looked at her hands before she continued to speak. "A few months ago, one of Lars's friends, a Miss Santangelo, offered to join one of our outposts as a prospective member. From what I understand, she was ex-Brotherhood. She was told to wait, and to return the next day. I've learned since then that a Brotherhood patrol had learned of her plan, and proceeded to annihilate the outpost." "So, what you're saying is you want revenge?" O'Harris asked. "No, don't be ridiculous. I have no interest in such a futile concept. Besides, Perez destroyed the unit responsible, if the Nuka-Grenade marks were any indication. What I'm saying is that it demonstrated a truth that I've tried so many years to avoid." Sarah came back with a cup of coffee, placing it in front of the doctor. After shooing her away, Farkas continued, "I want a better world, but that simply will not happen with the Brotherhood of Steel active. I've thought of everything, consulted with many experts, but it is apparent that the Brotherhood will only present itself as an obstruction against progress." "So what you're saying is that you hope we can kill them because they are in the way?" O'Harris asked, bemused.

Dr. Farkas glared at him. "This isn't a decision I reached lightly. If I thought of a reasonable alternative, ANY alternative, no matter how farfetched, that would be the avenue I pursue. But I can't. The Brotherhood refuses to work with the people in a positive, meaningful, and constructive manner, yet they insist on making themselves these "paragons" of any technology or knowledge they decided to deem unfit. Even if I look past that, they murdered an entire field hospital, patients and all, because their paranoia dictated that whatever knowledge Ms. Santangelo would pass on would contradict their Codex in such a way that it would compromise the sanctity of the Brotherhood. Mr. O'Harris, we are talking about an organization that would happily hoard medical technology while people outside their base suffer. I may not find them as distasteful as the Legion, but I cannot deny the obvious. The Brotherhood must be stopped."

She took a sip from her coffee. O'Harris did not expect to hear this amount of passion on the subject. He had at first thought that this was just a matter of a few confiscated energy weapons, but it was apparent that the Brotherhood was proving itself to be an active threat in the Mojave. Still, having said that, there was the matter of the state of their alliance with Perez. Whatever condition it was in would dictate the policy of the Rangers going forward. Having said that, having people with the know how of the Followers of the Apocalypse on their corner would be tremendously valuable. He could already see the look on Wilson's face when he would tell him the news.

"Alright, Dr. Farkas, you have yourself a deal. Still, I can't guarantee that I'm looking forward to a fight," he confessed. "Hmm, I suppose the Desert Rangers wouldn't have had any practice against fighting enemies in power armor, I suppose," Julie thought aloud. "In that case, head down to the Gun Runners just outside the strip, ask for a man named Yuri, and ask him about any of this "anti-Brotherhood" measures," Farkas offered. O'Harris stared dumbfounded at the woman. "And, uh, why would a Follower be able to recommend an arms dealer?" he asked. Julie shrugged. "His name is Yuri Skorslav, he was an NCR soldier who fought in the Brotherhood War, and he was wounded pretty badly. I've done some check-ups on him, and I know that breaking power armor is something of an "obsession" with him. He'll set you up if the Desert Rangers are about to…" Julie paused. O'Harris understood quickly enough. It was in the Followers nature to seek out peaceful alternatives towards conflicts. She just betrayed so many teachings simply having this conversation.

"Hey, I know your people out west may not be happy with your decision, so I'll just get this out of the way and say thank you for approaching me," O'Harris offered. This seemed to brighten Farkas up, slightly. "All right, so where the hell is the King, anyway?" he asked. Farkas exhaled while looking at the ceiling, the universal signal for an uncomfortable answer. "The King… is kind of a… tourist attraction," she confessed. "He's probably held up outside the Vault as we speak," she concluded. Groaning, O'Harris rose from the table, tipped his cap to the good doctor, and then headed up to find his appointment.

Along I-5

"OK, people, listen up! We are going to reach Shi-town by nightfall, so everyone, keep up the pace and stay in formation. We got a lot of ground to cover, so keep it up!" Cass hollered at the group. A smattering of a somewhat enthusiastic response came from the group. Cass looked over the party. Perez was exhausted, having been made to guard the camp by himself after that incident with Natalie. Speaking of, the Ranger had mostly kept to herself after the fight with Perez went south, barely speaking a word. Boone, being unusually sociable, stuck with her, while Raul and Lily remained the reliable chatterboxes that they usually were.

"Hey Perez, once we get there, you interested in catching a flick?" Cass asked Lars as he caught up. "Since when did you start getting friendly?" he muttered. "Friendly? I was just wondering about going to one of the "alternative" theaters, and was curious about you seeing any "real men" is all," Cass snarked. Perez scowled at his temporary employer. It was bad enough that she chewed his ear off last night; he really didn't need to deal with any of her passive aggressive bullshit right now.

"And that was when little Jimmy lost his third baby tooth!" Lily roared to Raul. He nodded, not caring that this was the third time this month that he heard that story. What Lily lacked in coherence, she more then made up for in sincerity. Raul may have been a rough bastard back in the day, but there was nothing like a grandparents honest enthusiasm about her grandkids that could warm the old irradiated heart. Then again, chances were that her grandkids were long since dead. Wonderful, he made himself sad. "Hey Lily, tell me the one about the puppy again?" Raul asked. Excitedly, Lily started with another tale about her hazily remembered past, this story slightly ever more different from the last re-telling.

Bringing up the rear, Boone and Natty walked together in silence. "… So… ever been to Shi-town?" Boone tried to break the ice. Natty just shook her head. "I've heard some interesting stuff has been happening there. Pretty decent place to live, if you've got the money, or so I've heard," Boone offered, again to no response. He wondered to himself whether or not it would be prudent to just let the time pass for her, or to keep trying to start up a conversation. Then again, why the hell do I care, Boone thought to himself.

"Halt!" A voice shouted out in front of them. The caravan obliged as a man in power armor stepped into view. Brotherhood members this far out west, Perez thought to himself. No, these weren't Brotherhood. These suits were stripped down from the typical Brotherhood variants. That, and the gold two headed bear on the front gave away their alignment. As he went over it, around a dozen others converged on their positions, their heavy machine guns at the ready. "Men, stand down!" another voice barked, having her men oblige. Lars groaned, recognizing the voice by tone alone. He just dealt with Cass last night, and he really did not need another ball-buster.

Stepping out from behind a few of her men, a woman wearing NCR fatigues and a brown beret with four stars approached the caravan. Inspecting the group, she slowly paced once around each member. When she reached Lars, she came to an abrupt halt. Locking eyes, a cold sneer crept on her face.

"Governor Perez, we meet once again. How have you been?" Moore asked. "Col… no… General Moore, congratulations on the promotion, by the way. You must have been thrilled!" gritted out Lars, wearing the same fake smile. "There was an opening, something about my superior being thrown off a cliff," Moore said as she glared at the ex-courier. "Well, that's the kind of thing that happens when people don't respect the sovereignty of independence. Viva la Vega." Lars said, saluting himself patriotically. Moore didn't say anything, she was too busy imagining her men unloading their guns on the "governor" until nothing but red paste and blood sausages remained.

Cass put herself in between the two, distancing both of them. "Lars, back off, and keep your trap shut! General Moore, I don't know what is the meaning of this is, but I assure you I have all the necessary authorization forms with me," she said as she handed a small pile of papers to the officer. Moore filed through the stack, carefully inspecting everything down to the fine print, before handing back the paperwork to Cass. "So, what business brings you to Shi-town?" she asked the caravan runner. "Delivery. Why is an NCR general shaking down caravans?" Cass asked Moore.

Moore closed her eyes and underwent that stress relief exercise that simpering idiot of a counselor back at Sierra told her to undergo. In her mind, these were traitors to the NCR, "sovereignty" be damned. Cassidy, Boone, and ESPECIALLY Perez deserved nothing more then a firing squad. Still, she was told not to interfere with Perez, and indeed she would not. Besides, she could only guess the machinations her "friend" would put Perez through…

"We were running some exercises in the area, but that doesn't mean we pass up any opportunity to look into anything suspicious," she explained. Cassidy looked at her, before shrugging and walking back to the Brahmin. Moore then laid eyes on Boone and Natty. "So, you must be the Ranger that Murdock stuck with this… person," she said as she inspected the Ranger. A lump started to form in Natty's throat. She knew that Cassandra Moore was an ex-ranger, and would have gone on to be one of the best had it not been for the injury during the Brotherhood War. Despite joining a completely different branch afterwards, she still regarded someone like more to be a senior Ranger, and deserved whatever respect she could show. "You look green as hell," Moore assessed, before letting out a sharp chuckle.

"Ma'am?" Natalie asked. "I never thought Murdock had a sense of humor. Lars, do you realize what her presence symbolizes?" she asked Perez. After shaking his head, Moore continued, "It symbolizes your overall lack of significance to the NCR as a whole. One green ranger. Most people of interest can garner at least six for their own personal protection, but you? You get one straight out of the academy, because you are so beneath their notice." "Is this supposed to hurt my feelings, General? You talk big for someone who came crawling to me to solve your problems in New Vegas. Are you still bitter that I reaped the rewards of all my hard work?" Lars asked, pretending to be coy.

"First thing you need to understand, Perez: I am not Oliver. I learned from my mistakes in Vegas, and from this point forward, I am intending on taking a somewhat more… proactive position in the military. You just may see me again, very soon." And with that, Moore turned to leave. Lars furrowed his brow for a moment, and then called after her. "Hey, General!" he called. Moore turned slightly, glancing at Perez while her men turned to leave. Lars scratched the back of his head a little, continuing with, "I was just talking with some of my… tech savvy friends. Apparently they broke into one of those satellites above us and saw something weird." Moore feigned some interest. "Apparently there's a fleet stationed at Pearl Harbor," he told the general. "Some boats stationed at an abandoned harbor… imagine that," Moore sniffed dismissively. "No you… they are boats that weren't supposed to be there. Apparently they were Chinese ships, from before the war. And it wasn't just some dead fleet, there was also an army stationed there," he added.

Moore turned to face Perez again. "Your point?" Lars was about to call Moore something that would have guaranteed Cass giving him the mother of all backhandings, but his manners won over. "What I'm saying is that there is an element out their that I think the NCR should be aware of," he stressed. "What, are you scared that your own nation won't be able to handle it?" Moore teased. "I don't want to see Johnny and Susie Californian get hurt, is all," Lars admitted. Moore looked at Perez with a strange mixture of contempt and concern. "Noted, Mr. Perez," was all she said, before joining her men as they marched off.

"Well, talk about a waste of time. Men, breaks over! March!" Cass commanded, emulating the recently departing General Moore flawlessly. Raul and Lars both chuckled while Lily told everyone to be nice. Boone was about to join them when he realized that the group was short one member. Looking back, he saw Natty standing still, her hat obstructing her eyes. "Na… Ranger Hale," Boone prodded her. "… a joke…" Natalie whispered to herself. Boone looked on as she whimpered out a slight chuckle. "Naturally, who was I fooling? It couldn't have been more obvious…" she continued, berating herself quietly. "Nat!" Boone interrupted. Natalie, disinterested in the sniper's concern, brushed past him, rejoining the group. Boone, recognizing this kind of behavior all to well, made a note to keep her in his sight for the time being.

Classified location

Judah Krieger looked at the mass of slop in front of him, gently prodding it with a fork. "This… this is… this is a mighty fine stew, Orion," he offered the chef. "It's meatloaf…" Orion responded. Captain Krieger looked back at the mass before him, swearing that he just saw it blink. Johnson had already passed up his tray, and said something about going out to find something more edible, like a Radscorpian or something. Dr. Henry had already started on his meal, not concerning himself with things like taste. Krieger eventually summoned up enough courage to chock down a few spoonfuls of the mess before excusing himself from both the meal and Orion's judgmental glaring. Lamely stating that he was going to check on Daisy, he left the table and headed upstairs.

After Hoover Dam, the five Remnants all came to the same conclusion; despite their differences, they could not bear to spend their few remaining days apart from one another. Even Orion and Johnson could put aside their differences long enough to realize that they considered the other a brother. So together, they left Nevada, and headed north to an Enclave outpost that had previously been abandoned since Navarro fell, in the city formerly known as Seattle. After scaring away a few pesky prospectors and some unfriendly looking raiders, they settled into their new home, pretending to still be useful while waiting until it was their time to… pass on.

After climbing up four flights, Judah took a moment to catch his breath. Every time he climbed these stairs, the more he felt his age. Bracing himself, he continued walking down the hallway, towards the radio operating room where Daisy had been spending most of her time. A few days ago, Daisy had gotten wind of something that seemed to disturb her greatly, and the person who had previously been the most sociable member of their little group had suddenly become more reclusive then Dr. Henry had. When asked, she insisted it was probably nothing, not wanting to disturb her comrades, but Krieger would not so easily be dissuaded.

Arriving outside the door, he knocked sharply. "Airman Daisy Whitman, this is your commanding officer. Requesting permission to enter!" he barked. When he wanted to go for a laugh, he would typically resort back to military protocol. There was just something funny about being strict about it when your army was a memory and the soldiers under your command were more then family. Usually, Whitman was the first to laugh, but right now he got nothing. Worried, Krieger gingerly opened the door, looking upon the various monitors and transceivers throughout the room. Daisy herself sat in the middle, slumped over a console.

Krieger rushed to her side as quickly as he could, shaking her awake. "Daisy, Daisy, are you alright?" he pleaded. Daisy woke up with a jolt, pushing Arcade off of her. "Didn't your mother tell you to knock," she yawned. "I did, but you were already asleep, you old bat!" Krieger growled. "Who are you calling old?" Daisy glowered, before noticing the console again and returning her attention towards it. "Do you mind telling me what all this business with secrecy is, Airman Whitman?" Judah asked. "I keep telling you, its nothing," Daisy tried to insist. "Daisy, we're old. We eat, we complain, and most of all, we sleep. Nothing stops an old fogey from going to bed, so when something is keeping one of us up all night, I generally don't dismiss it as "nothing"," Krieger explained.

Daisy sighed, before motioning towards the console in front of her. "A few weeks back I got wind of a rouge transmission from the Hub. Involving one of our old friends from Nevada, Vega," Whitman explained. "He was talking with some of his Brotherhood allies, and eventually, they started to talk about a satellite that the Scribes hacked into." A cold chill ran down Krieger's spine. "Did… did they hack into Bradley-Hercules?" he shuddered. "No, I have no idea what happened with that. It was just one of our observation satellites. What was bothering me is what they apparently found," Daisy continued. She typed in some code onto the console, playing back the audio of the conversation. Krieger listened intently, and when the audio wrapped up, he looked down at Whitman.

"So, apparently our "friends" from across the Pacific are interested in round two, are they?" Krieger grimly joked. Daisy let out a sad chuckle, "Just our luck, they arrive forty years too late." Krieger looked at the monitors, gleaning that the readings were set over Pearl Harbor. Sure enough, a few ships still active had been docked outside the Harbor, but now the fleet was on the move. "So, what is our plan, Captain?" Daisy asked. Judah, his face losing any good humor it previously had, pondered over what should be done. The Enclave, the only force he figured was capable of repelling such an invasion, was dead. They were just five old folks waiting to die. But still… regardless of what the wasteland felt about the Enclave, or what they thought about him and his soldiers, he did not forget the charter of the original Enclave. This was still his country, and if these new up-and-comers wanted to do it harm, they would have to go through him. "Tell me everything you've learned since. Then, assemble the men. Looks like we haven't retired just yet."

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Enclave: The remnants of the Old World government, the Enclave were at one time the most feared faction in the wasteland. Consisting of the descendents of political, military, and business leaders, thousands of selected individuals hid from the Great War on an oil rig on the Pacific Ocean, isolated from the rest of the nation for a century. Upon re-establishing contact, the Enclave took it upon itself to attempt to rid the wasteland of "impurity." Having access to cutting edge Old World technology made them extremely dangerous. However, thanks to the efforts of the Chosen One, followed by the combined efforts of the New California Republic and Brotherhood of Steel, the Enclave have by and large ceased to exist as a dominant power.

**Hey guys, out of curiosity, could the people following the story sound off on what made them follow the story? Just wondering. I'm just curious to see what about the fic is working, what stuff I need to work on, and if there's anything I ought to scrap. I'm all about feedback! **


End file.
